November 25, 1998.

"What I've learned from a long relationship is that "time to think" is no good. You need to be too close to be able to think."

- fast eddie

Did a bit of freaking out last night on the phone to the Boy. After hinging all my hopes of happiness on him, I surprised myself by being morose as he chatted about projects & what he did last weekend. And - let's be honest here - I was more than a little put out that he wasn't suffering as much as me. I tried to say something of the kind to him, and his arch response made me burst into tears, for which he was quite sorry.

"I know, once you have a full course of me you can't cut back."

Last night I needed to ask him to make a decision, and this is unaskable by my own rules. The antimony was killing me...I need to talk to him because I don't dare talk to him. Last time this hiatus thing happened to me, I acted like a little angel for a week, conferred sexual favours freely and still got dumped. That was more than a year ago, and I've since learned my lesson about ultimatums.

I mean, my ex was pretty much sick of me, but he was unable to just make a clean break. There was really no trial going on during that trial period. But this time there is...or so I'd like to believe. And I'm not going to queer this. Despite what I may think in years to come, when all of this has been long since resolved, I can't do anything but desire the Boy. In the words of Gordie Johnson, he's "the finest thing I've known." No way am I going to allow myself to fuck it up.

No, if he does decide to be rid of me, it won't be me who brings matters to a head. There'll be no loophole that he can plead out of. He's going to have to cut my head off in cold blood or not at all.

(Yes, it's very lurid for a Wednesday afternoon.)