November 20, 1998.

Last night the Boy & I played a rather amusing game.

We had just reconciled after a tense couple of days, during which I had threatened suicide & almost meant it. The relief that we were fighting the good fight together again became almost palpable. We re-swore our love, but decided to be apart to get some real thinking done.

And what do 2 people do when they're in love?

Well, not these 2 people, not under such an arrangement. How could he figure out anything if he was caught in a net of pheromones? And how could he be encouraged to make a responsible decision if we were allowed to be together in everything but title? I dunno...my friends can do anything they like sexually, and I only have a problem with it if it hurts somebody. You know: if they should've known better, but didn't. But I myself take a very hard line about sex. I don't ever want it to be a motivation for me. Love - I'll let love take me lots of places, but I'm very 18th century about sex. If I'd lived in a less-permissive age, I'd certainly be a virgin (assuming I was single, of course).

We called the game "Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?"

Frustrating, but ultimately it'll be worth it.

I felt spiritually close to a girl I used to be friends with: although she'd done everything a cultured young woman in the city is likely to do, she insisted on remaining a virgin. Because of that one act subtracted from her dancecard, she considered herself pure & unblemished.

Javina said she'd take me cruising with her. I prolly won't follow anybody home like a docile little pup, but perhaps flirting will ease the stress of being celibate. Of being "pure."

Sigh. All that matters is that I'm right on this one.

"Why do all your metaphors today involve cows?"

- the boy

Today was rather amusing, because we had to sheepishly recall the break-up information and send out little reconciliation notices. The Boy suggested that a phone tree might be in order...so that if this happens again, we can let the burden of information trickle down gently through the infrastructure. It's funny, but it's also very rueful...I never ever want to go through another 3 days like this. It didn't drive me insane, but I think it's only because all the defense mechanisms were in place from the last time my heart broke this badly. The scar tissue from the Hamlet incident* probably kept me from doing some really extreme things. It certainly kept my tear-drenched hands gripping vainly onto sanity. Good thing, too.

The worst recanting concerned Scherezade. Since she'd heard most of my anger & tears & insults during the breakup, she made a flat assertion that if I ever took him back after all this, she would kick my ass. And she would. I'm absolutely certain of that. I knew that when I told her, I was fighting for my life.

So I gave her the complete explanation, including details I haven't given to anyone else. I spoke slowly and precisely. I paused frequently to make sure she stayed with me. And I did it over the phone.

Hey, I'm not that foolhardy. If I'd spoke in person, I wouldn't've gotten any other words out before a stylish black sneaker was planted on my ass. Repeatedly.

* Hamlet incident - 2 years ago Paris (a poet) broke my heart. I decided to be Ophelia. We've since worked it out.