November 30, 1998.

Last day of the month. November went by much faster than October. Saint Stephen says that as we get older, a month gets to be a comparatively shorter part of our life experience, so that it seems to go faster. As good a theory as anyone's, I s'pose.

Lots of stuff this weekend. Didn't feel like writing about it, though. Very much weirdness. A chance to take another bite of the Apple, refused with some regret. Blood. Lust. Tears. Lashes.

Queen Street on Friday night, you know how it is.

On Friday night, Javina asked me to come have cocktails at the local 5 star hotel. Had 3 cosmopolitans, and got drunk talking of people and places and action and words and sex. Mostly sex. I felt very comfortable telling her things about the Boy, since we fell into this big sister thing some time ago. She accepts without comment things that would make my other friends grit their teeth and change the subject. It was good. We dropped in on a local gay bar for a very entertaining half hour, chatted with the locals about the various statues of David, and took off to my grotto in search of proper clubbing clothes.

Played a bit of dressup. The first time since second year and Ophelia. I liked it. Then we went to Queen Street for a long while. I love the Garden. Not only do I get let in without ID'ing, but often the bouncer is someone I know & he'll ask after my recent life. The craziest retro stuff on the system, including "Rock Me Amadeus" and the ultra proto goth song, "Paint It Black." Saw someone get 25 lashes on the pool table, counted off by the surrounding patrons. I think it was his birthday. I hope so.

Tequilla shot, Jäger shot, half a pitcher of beer. Wiped up some of Javina's spilt blood with my fingertips and licked it off. I've only felt like doing that once before, and I was drunk then, too. Javina was utterly stunned - that day she'd come across something her ex had written about getting tested because she was an ex-prostitute. The words made her feel filthy; my gesture made her feel odd.

From then on, there was a definite aura of sexual potential crackling in the air between us. Held hands, ran through the streets. In the afterhours party, I realized with some amazement that a woman wanted to take me to bed and no fooling. But although we shared a bed, we emphatically did not do anything more than kiss goodnight. Even that drunk, I was just as in love with the Boy as I ever have been - and that was enough.

Somewhere in my head, I realized that the Boy & I are on hiatus, and that I could plead that technicality. But I wanted to be faithful. I wanted to be worthy of trust, even though I'm not specifically bound by situation right now. Told this to Javina, and she took it rather well. I'm not sure that I would've been so philosophic about rejection. But that's just me.

The next day I stayed in, waiting for the Boy to come visit. Was more relieved than I can say when he did show up - since the night we broke up, I'm not allowed to use the phone for delicate emotional messages, and the urge to make a clean breast of the previous night was just about killing me. He took it a bit badly, but soon came round. This is not the first time such a confession has been made to him, you see...so there was the past to trip over as well as the present.

Spent the rest of the night in a pleasantly tired state. Southpark, the Simpsons, and smoking lessons filled the night out nicely, and I fell asleep very promptly. Unfortunately, it was while the Boy was still over. He waited for me to wake up, noticing my snoring patterns, and then left after a couple of hours. I was very apologetic the next day, but he didn't seem to care much. The wages of binge are sleep, after all.

Sunday - nothing much. Very little work done, resulting in despair. Spent far too long cleaning dishes. Yucky.

And today was just a Monday. I feel relatively good, although occasionally touched by depression. Every once in awhile I still see the pin coming out of Javina's arm, and the dark rills of blood running down. I'm counting the hours till I next see the Boy, when I should be finishing up my Blake paper.

Oh well...it'll all come out in the wash.