It came from yesterday to a time that would lead to tomorrow, to a time I thought you would find me, to the time when I would look at you and not feel the needle pierce my skin as I ache for a way to say I do not hurt, not as much. It came from yesterday to that time when we were unknowing of what could come to be, of what one stare could cause us to believe...It came from yesterday and it runs to endless.

All weekend I have been doing a lot of manly thinking. That means thinking about men.

I have been hearing about a man and reading about one man in particular.

My friend in Kansas is lovesick. This guy she didn’t really like but only liked because he expressed the least bit of interest in her dumped her. He turns around and dumps her out of the blues. He just doesn’t feel they are “compatible” enough to sustain a relationship. She didn’t even like him, don't you just hate that, I don't really like you and then, you turn around and dump me! It hurts, more than you know. She said she wakes up in the middle of the night with a pounding heart, begging for an explanation, and the only way she can respond is by crying, wailing.

I asked her honestly to think about it, what did you really like about him. If you can find ten things that you like about him then, go ahead and cry but if it's just your bitter self telling you "you do not deserve to be dumped” then, it's just a bad case of bruised ego.

On the other hand, I have been reading about one man in particular. In between all the press on Keanu, his face on every magazine I know and on AOL's home page, and on every station on the freaking TV, I have just about overdosed on him. And that's hard. I kept mixing my feelings for him with my friend’s reaction to her bad breakup. When you hear someone talk about the cons of a relationship like that continuously, it just unearths all the things you hated about relationships that caused you to stay so clear from them. The insecurity during sex, and outside sex, and this specified male making you feel you had to be this person just because you were dating him. The hair always had to be in place, the face, and the waist. It was a rite of passage I could do without, now I am content with the constant longing of the impossible, and it fills me until such a time when I get an overdose of it.

In between my pep talk with her, the first night I dreamt that I dated Keanu and he screamed out at me that I should really stop because we are not compatible.
And I kept telling him to escape his ideas of a perfect woman and accept me as I am. I held his head in my hand and spoke to it: Free Your Mind. Free Your Mind.

Heartbreaking nonetheless.

The second night which led to this morning, it was worse. Nothing I can remember but nothing good enough to remember. I woke up sweating and deeply saddened.

I mentioned that I hated reading about those interviews, because it takes you to a place I can't explain, it's like too much information, too much said about the same things, not enough said about something. I want him to be a mystery, I enjoy the mystery, I really don't want to know all these, true and untrue falses. I do not. It saddens me, in a healthy way.

It builds the mood to write some good stories but sometimes I am just too sad to write a thing I just want to sit there and sulk.

I haven't heard from my friend all day. With any luck she has patched things up with this guy. Her pain just brought up all these feelings I had been running away from for so long and successfully too.

She kept going: I can't believe I am going to turn 30 without a husband.

As if it was an abomination of some sort. Which to her it was. I just don't want to think like that, I am not ready to think those kind of deep-set unsettling futuristic plans right now.

This is the written script of my life. I live it. Why should I judge it?