Tuesday 10th April 2007:

I hate fucking dogs, not that I…is it worth me continuing, is it, because we all know the way this is going to go, is it worth the effort? Oh go on then, it keeps me amused if nothing else. I’ll start again; don’t want to spoil the flow, especially as I haven’t flowed for a while. Start a new paragraph mister Brown.


I hate fucking dogs, not that I ever have, fucked one I mean, I’m just not into bestiality, not of the canine variety anyway, porking a poodle or shafting a shuzitsu, bless you, just doesn’t seem right to me, it’s a question of morality and then there’s the consent issue and concerns about being targeted by an RSPCA hit man, it happens, and anyway, what if they didn’t like your technique you could end up chasing your stick and balls all over the park after they’d been chewed off, no, rest assured pet lovers, or should that be pet aficionado’s, as lovers suggests something slightly suspect, dogs are out as far as I’m concerned, indeed animals of any kind are strictly off the sexual menu, running my tongue over a Pepperami stick is as close to giving oral to a pig as I ever want to get, oh yes, Dick and Shane are animal enough for this boy. The reason I hate dogs is that one of them caused me to come off my bike yesterday morning, and by ‘come’ I mean fall off, I promise hand on heart I wasn’t shagging it at the time. The dog in question is a Red Setter that belongs to one of our neighbours. It’s a lovely looking creature, beautiful in fact, a pedigree, but it’s the dimmest, dumbest most stupid animal I have ever encountered. It’s a canine bimbo, its lights are on but no one is home and its owner has absolutely no control over it. It takes him for a walk twice a day. He flies out of his drive attached to its lead as it galumphs down the street, its big paws and ears flopping and flailing in all directions, tongue lolling madly as he desperately exhorts it to: “SLOW DOWN MILLY, GET BACK, HEEL, HEEL MILLY, MILLY HEEL!”  I dunno why he bothers because mental Milly takes fuck all notice of him. Anyroads up, yesterday morning, just as I exited our drive on my bike, following in Dick and Shane’s wake as we headed off to the Riverside to take part in a sponsored Easter Monday cycle rally, our neighbour’s manic mutt departed their drive without benefit of leash or owner and galumphed straight into my path. I managed to swerve and miss the daft thing, but it came back for another go, leaping up at me and I ended up skidding along the road surface skinning my leg and arm, I looked like raw meat. Dick and Shane had to rescue me as I lay tangled up in my bike with a completely wild dog leaping up and down on top of me barking and slavering all over my face. Dick dragged the hairy lunatic back to its owner and Shane dragged me indoors and applied first aid to my skinned extremities in the form of neat TCP, sharply telling me not to be such a great big baby when I roared a protest as it just about burned my tender flesh to the bone. He’s a ruthless swine, God knew what he was about when he made Shane gay, he was saving some little kiddie the horror of having him as a paternal daddy dabbing neat antiseptic onto grazed little hands and knees. I’m only glad he didn’t take up doctoring for a living, the NHS would have been quids in with his methods, no expensive fancy anaesthetics for doctor Shane, he’d give you a stick to bite on and tell you not to aggravate him by yelling when he sawed your leg off. I still did the bike ride though, no way was I missing out on it, not after I’d persuaded Dick and Shane to take part in the first place. It was one of those Sport Aid events and it was really good, we all enjoyed it especially as the weather was so nice, a bit breezy, but warm.  Mind you, my leg and arm have really stiffened up overnight, they’re as sore as hell, why do grazes hurt so much, I can hardly move without wincing. 

Hope you all had a nice Easter by the way and yes I know I’ve been quiet lately. It’s actually really hard to get back into something once you’ve broken the pattern. I’ve been meaning to add an entry for days, but have always managed to find something else to do. Partly I got bored, writing online is a bit like shouting into a cavern, in the main all that comes back is an echo of your own voice, still, I did miss the exercise of writing for its own sake. I’ve also been kind of preoccupied too and as a consequence I got a bit low in mood. My mum isn’t well, I don’t know what’s wrong exactly, she keeps fobbing me off, but I know she isn’t well.  Then Shane’s father had a fall, he slipped on the stairs and ended up in hospital, not that he stayed there for long, awkward old bugger that he is, he totally refused to accept that he needed bed rest and insisted on discharging himself the same day, shock, a bruised coccyx and badly sprained knee were not going to fetter him. Shane was really annoyed and they had a head to head, but the old man was adamant, he wasn’t staying in hospital, he was going home, he’d manage and no he didn’t want a home help, he wanted everyone to stop fussing and let him get on with his life. Penny and the Muppet were away on holiday when it happened so, after discussion and an ultimatum, us or a home help, he came to us to recuperate, i.e. he came to me seeing as I was the one that had to attend to him all day long. I wasn’t very happy about it, but what could I do. Shane was obviously worried about him being alone while he was still shaky on his feet. I wouldn’t be much of a partner if I didn’t take into account needs other than my own. It was every bit as bad as I thought it would be, in fact worse, the fall did nothing to improve his temperament, he’s a man who seriously does not like admitting to age and its associated weaknesses and he took it out on me, well why wouldn’t he, youth I suppose is a natural target for age, especially age that rages against the process.  I could understand it, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with and I suppose worry about my own parent maybe made me less patient. He complained about everything, I made tea too hot, too weak or too strong, he didn’t like the food I cooked, I made too much noise, I played music too loudly it got on his nerves, I talked too much about nothing at all, he said I was lazy. In short, in common with his daughter he just doesn’t like me. The irritation of my youth aside he resolutely refuses to get the kind of relationship I have with Dick and Shane. He’s learned over time to accept their relationship and he respects the fact that Dick comes from well bred stock and that he’s a professional businessman, whereas he sees me as just a waste of space, a common little free loader who tries to come between them (insert your own sexual pun here) He ran me ragged and just about reduced me to tears with his mordant tongue on more than one occasion, not that he ever exercises his full unpleasantness when Shane is within hearing range. To make matter worse Dick had to go away on a weeklong business trip so I didn’t even have his sympathetic ear to moan into each evening. Shane himself was busy, April is a hectic month for him and his workday continues long after he’s left his office, so I didn’t like to bother him with my domestic whingings. I got a bit depressed to be honest, I nearly dug out the Damien Rice CD that Penny inflicted on me for Christmas in order to finish the job and catapult me into suicide.

Things came to a head one evening when I was serving coffee after dinner. Shane’s dad pulled the cup towards himself before I’d finished pouring and consequently his hand got splashed with hot coffee. I felt awful, terrible in fact, but it really wasn’t my fault. I apologised all the same, but he didn’t accept saying I was a clumsy idiot and Shane should sack me. I lost my temper at that point. Thumping the coffee pot down on the table I told him he was a miserable, spiteful old bastard and it was a shame he hadn’t broken his fucking neck when he fell down the stairs. Storming from the arena I snatched up my jacket intending to head off to the Rose and the sympathetic company of my friend Stella. I didn’t even get as far as the front door. Shane followed hard on my heels, he didn’t say a word, but the way he stabbed a finger towards the stairs spoke volumes. I didn’t argue, judging from the dark look on his face I was in trouble. Dropping my jacket over the end of the banister I ran upstairs. I lay on the bed and had a good cry. I felt totally unappreciated. The sound of Shane’s feet on the stairs some time later made my guts churn with apprehension. I sat up as he entered the bedroom convinced he was going to tan me for being abusive to his sire. I was right. Sitting on the bed he pulled me straight over his lap and landed a half dozen full-blooded slaps to my trousered backside for losing my temper and swearing. I was not to verbally abuse his pater under any circumstances; there were more appropriate ways of refusing to be intimidated than resorting to swearing and yelling abuse. He then stretched out on the bed and pulled me on top of him for a cuddle, confirming that the punishment had been cursory and he wasn’t really angry with me. He said he was sorry that his father was such a difficult man, he’d had a word with him, but I needed to realise that his bark was often worse than his bite and if I were, politely, firmer with him he’d respect me more. He was also sorry that as the domestic face of the relationship I had to bear the brunt of the burden of care and he appreciated what I was doing very much. His father chose that moment to start bawling for attention and demanding to know where everyone was. Shane sighed, rolled his eyes and said, “Promise me something Gilli, if I ever show signs of turning into my father, fucking shoot me.”

It was a huge relief when Penny touched down on English shores again and we could ship him off to stay with her and the Muppet for a few days before going back to his own fortress. I got a nice surprise when Dick and Shane rearranged their work schedules in order to take me on a short spa break at this gorgeous hotel in the New Forest. Dick’s not so bothered about spa treatments, but he was happy because golf was available. I’m feeling loads better than I did. I suppose I should go and wash the dinner pots up or something. I never feel like washing up when the meal I made wasn’t up to much. I tried this Thai dish in imitation of one we had in the hotel restaurant when we were away, it was prawns with noodles in a tamarind sauce, but it was tasteless. I’ll have to trundle out the half price Easter eggs I bought in Woolies this morning to compensate. I bought Dick a novelty one that’s shaped like an Easter Chick with a huge phallus and has chocolate flavoured condoms in place of Smarties inside it, it retails under the name Lick A Chick’s Dick (Lie detector says NO) okay, I’m joking, I actually bought him a Smarties egg, unwrapped it, ate the Smarties, put in some chocolate flavour condoms and re-wrapped it. I can’t wait to see his face when he opens it.

Sunday 15th April 2007:

It looks like Dick and I will have to keep our heads down today and watch our p’s and q’s. Shane’s in one of his landmine moods, he’s already exploded twice and it’s not even noon yet. First explosion occurred at half past seven when nature called him to the bathroom to perform a watering ritual. Judging from his mood when he came back one of those parasitic candiru fish had snuck aboard his penis and lodged itself in his urethra because he was in a very sharp mood, proven by the very sharp slap he landed on my naked nether region as he told me to get my idle arse out of bed and do something about the shambolic mess that littered the bedroom floor. I, who had been enjoying a nice cuddly skin-to-skin sleep in with Dick, was put out to say the least. I reminded him that most of the shambolic mess belonged to him and Dick and if they really exerted themselves I was sure they could master the art of putting something back on a clothes hanger or in the laundry basket instead of dropping it on the floor for me to retrieve like some fucking textile Springer Spaniel. I was coldly reminded that it was my duty to keep the house to an acceptable tidy standard, his standard that is, something he made me write down by hand twenty times as punishment for back chatting him. Explosion number two took place after breakfast when he once again took himself off to perform ritual on the porcelain throne. The bellowing of my full name alerted me to the possibility that once again he had a bone of contention to pick with the humble houseboy.

“GILLIBRAN GET YOUR TIRESOME BOY ARSE UP HERE NOW!”

Dick gave me a sympathetic hug telling me to don a hardhat and flak jacket as it looked like being a turbulent Sabbath. He also fell foul of Shane this morning, getting his ears well scorched regarding an incident that took place at HIS house last night. Dick had drawn out the playing of a hand of cards despite being subtly told by Shane that it was time to bring it to an end and make moves for home. Dick was reminded in no uncertain terms about who is the ruling Daddy around here and about obligations of obedience. The bone of contention Shane had to pick with me revolved around the fact that upon concluding his ritual and flushing the toilet it began foaming like a rabid dog and Shane wished to know why, pointing to the white froth that was bubbling over the rim of the loo, confident that his shit was not responsible and therefore it had to be something to do with me. It was. Moistening my lips I casually confessed that I had shampooed the toilet earlier and had obviously been a tad lavish with the tea tree tingle, but it smelled nice didn’t it Daddy, fresh? He didn’t give a bull’s bollocks about fresh; he wanted to know why in hell’s name I had felt it necessary to shampoo the loo, it seemed beyond madness. Because we’d run out of bleach and it seemed a good idea at the time, one of those moments of impulsive genius. He wasn’t impressed with my ingenuity, to him it was another example of my increasingly sloppy housekeeping skills, and apart from anything else common sense dictated that shampoo was not a good substitute for a toilet cleaner. I must admit it took ages to get rid of the foam; I had to bale some of it out with a jug. Dick wasn’t too happy either seeing as it was his designer, ‘do you know how much that cost,’ shampoo that I’d used. Designer shampoo my arse (and why not seeing as I’ve already done the loo) God, some people are gullible, stick a fancy label and a so-called famous name on something and you can sell a £1.99 product for a small fortune. He loves his designer labels does our Dick.

By the way, some words of wisdom…things that looks like chocolate and smell like chocolate don’t necessarily ‘taste’ like chocolate, especially when they’re made of rubber. Dick loved his chocolate condoms and being a sharing sort insisted I had a nibble. Apart from tasting disgusting they made my lips puff up, the sexy chocolate flavoured blowjob ended with me looking like a blowfish. It was horrible and my tongue went numb, I was in a right panic. Shane made me take one of his antihistamine tablets and it did the trick. Come to think of it, some of his prickly mood is probably down to hayfever, this time of year affects him more than any other, something to do with tree pollens.  Well, I’m off to brave Tesco in search of foamless bleach. Dick is coming with me, bless, he doesn’t want to be left alone with the Bear, there’s safety in numbers. I love food shopping with Dick, it’s a novelty for him and everything is a source of wonder. I lead him up all the luxury goodie aisles just to see his lovely eyes light up.

“Oooh, look at this honey, we’ll have one of these I think, and a bottle of that, and these sound divine.”

I love that man.


Tuesday 17th April 2007:

Ever had one of those embarrassing moments you will never forget? Read on.

They do say that you should never look a gift horse in the mouth and they’d be right, you should never look a gift horse in the mouth or indeed anywhere, in fact if you see a horse bearing gifts the best thing to do is cross the road and avoid it, or call the local glue factory and have it taken safely off the streets before it gets you into bother. Dick, my very own posh racehorse, presented me with a gift yesterday. Aw, how sweet I hear you say, so, what was this gift, flowers, chocolates, aftershave, perhaps a cuddly toy? No. Jewellery then? Well, yes, getting warmer, it was sort of jewellery. He got back from work a little earlier than usual; I’d kind of expected it as I’d been under strict instruction not to wank all day and so knew he wanted me fresh and primed for something, randy sod that he is. As soon as I clapped eyes on him I could tell that he was quite excited, either that or he’d been shoplifting in Sainsbury’s and had smuggled a cucumber past security. He hugged me, kissed me and tenderly asked if I’d had a bowel movement that day (and they say romance is dead) I said yes, vaguely aware of alarm bells beginning to ring, he asked if I’d cleaned thoroughly and I said, somewhat indignantly, of course, making sure I said it loudly in order to be heard above the alarm bells, which were now clanging like an invasion warning and he grinned wickedly and said oh goody get your kit off honey because I’ve got something for you. Whipping open his briefcase he then produced a string of gleaming metallic graduated pearls…passion pearls that is, otherwise known as anal beads. He’d obviously strolled abroad during his lunch hour and had roamed into the Perverts Arse Us shop, either that or the Ann Summers shop, I’m going to send a photo of Dick to all their establishments begging: please do not sell anything to this posh pervert. He waved them enticingly, but I shook my head, folded my arms and clenched my buttocks, saying this houseboy’s bottom accommodated many things, but internal jewellery was not one of them, especially internal jewellery that looked like it had been modelled on a set of fucking metal billiard balls heading into bowling balls. They looked like a fearsome set of Mexican Bola’s; they could have brought down an elephant if thrown correctly. It would be fun, he said, kissing my ear, sexy, erotic, they heightened arousal, he caressed my nipples, slid his hands down my body and reached for the button on my jeans, while describing in detail how he’d insert them a bead at a time as he made love to me, and then at the optimum moment he’d slowly pull them out and I’d have one of the best and most powerful orgasms ever (it said on the back of the packet) Oh go on then, why not, I thought. So it was that I ended up naked on the couch in the living room, one leg slung over the back of it, the other over Dick’s shoulder as he slowly inserted one lubed ball at a time, pushing them in and out and jiggling them around. I have to admit I was really enjoying the sensation and was very definitely turned on, as was Dick if the size of his smuggled cucumber was anything to go by, it would have made a hell of a lot of sandwiches for a Vicar’s garden party. I felt rather proud as the last and biggest ball disappeared into my rectum leaving only the little retrieval loop hanging free, pride gave way to waves of pleasure as Dick’s tongue went to work on the trouser pup. The crucial moment was imminent and Dick was murmuring about pulling out the beads and replacing them with something else when the front door opened and Shane called a greeting. I was too preoccupied to respond, as was Dick, Shane often came across us shagging, it was no big deal, he either just watched, joined in or went off and had a shower. However, we both responded strongly when he said: “Go into the living room Margaret, make yourself at home. I’ll just see where the boys are.” Dick’s response was to jerk upright in horror pulling out the anal pearls as he did so. I have to report that the blurb on the packaging was true, because as the beads came out with a rush and a plop I went off like a fire hydrant, it was one of the strongest orgasms I’ve ever had, it seemed to go on forever and I didn’t want it to, not with some strange woman about to walk into the room, I didn’t fancy my chances of living for very long after spraying a guest with a truck load of jism, I had to clamp a cushion over it to stop it from spraying the ceiling. In the meantime Shane was bawling our names and clattering up the stairs and Dick was frantically trying to drag on his jeans when the door opened and Margaret came into view and just as quickly went out of it as she made a sharp appraisal of the situation. Dick speed fastened his shirt, shoved both his underpants and mine into my hands and hissed at me to get dressed, fast, and find the fucking bum beads, which had flown out of his hand with fright. He hastened to intercept the mysterious Margaret and hopefully smooth things over before Shane realised that we’d staged a live porn show in front of his lady guest. God, I was embarrassed. I don’t know how much she actually saw, enough to know what was going on that was for sure. I found the pearls languishing elegantly on the arm of a chair and hastily shoved them out of sight under it along with Dick’s boxers before straightening my t-shirt and trying to look cool and composed. By the time I got into the kitchen Dick was pouring boiling water into the teapot looking totally charming and at ease, while I, on being introduced to Margaret, a business associate of Shane’s, flushed crimson. She was very nice and shook my hand and said it was a pleasure to meet me. It was as if nothing had happened. Shane came in and demanded to know where the hell we’d been hiding and why on earth hadn’t we made our presence known? Margaret smoothly intervened saying we’d been in the living room when she went in and were so engrossed in some television programme that we were oblivious to all else. She smiled at him without guile saying, “Poor things, I fear I rather startled them.” Dick and I just about snorted tea down our noses and she looked like she might be on the verge of giggles, but confined them. Thankfully, Shane is none the wiser. Now if that had been Penny that walked in on us she would have screamed blue murder and Dick and I would have been keelhauled, though knowing Dick he’d probably enjoy that and ask for it to be done again with anal beads inserted.

By contrast today has been nice and dull and safe with no unexpected guests passing through. I performed my houseboy duties with humble efficiency earning praise from the Lordly ones before they moseyed on out to some Masonic shindig or other. I retrieved the bum beads and Dick’s boxers from under the chair, both have been properly washed and stored away for future use, but only behind securely locked doors. I’m having an early night tonight. Shane bought me a DVD he knew I wanted called The History Boys and I'm going to curl up in bed and watch that and have a few glasses of wine in preference to watching the news and the awfulness of events in Virginia which are being churned around and around. I hate watching anything like that, I hate it, I feel like I'm intruding upon the personal, private, tragic and painful grief of people I don't know.

Sunday 29th April 2007:

"I have of late -- but wherefore I know not -- lost all my mirth, forgone
all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilential congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither."

Poor Hamlet, he was bisexual you know, that’s what that speech is all about, he’s pissed off with both chicks and dicks and is considering celibacy and life as a council grave digger, the pension is good and he gets a plot to call his own at the end of service, no sharing with those bastards Rosencrantz and Guildernstern, well, that’s my personal interpretation anyway and let’s face it, all art is a matter of personal interpretation and no one can prove you right or wrong.  I like Shakespeare, not that I’ve met him personally, him being deader than the proverbial doornail, and anyway there’s some contention as to whether ‘he’ was actually a ‘they,’ a team of writers much like those modern bards that get together and write the scripts for Eastender’s, Coronation Street etc, and with many of the same themes when you think about it, death, murder, greed, sex, incest, lust, and that’s just in the local greasy spoon café. Of course Shakespeare did it so much better. I don’t just wash dishes and sweep floors you know, I read I do, and not just porn. I browse Shakespeare and other classics of literature while I’m on the loo, it takes my mind of lower considerations and educates and gives me food for thought in the process. That speech is the one spoken by Withnail at the end of the film ‘Withnail And I.’ I love that film, I watch it when I’m feeling a bit down because it’s funny, but also sad, bittersweet I suppose, and as such it appeals to the part of me that needs cheering up and also the part of me that needs to be sad, sometimes you do need to be sad, you need to acknowledge that you’re hurting. The ending of the film with Withnail, brilliantly played by Richard E Grant, quoting, with shining eloquence, that speech from Hamlet, as the rain pours down never fails to make me cry. In fact as I watched it on Friday night I positively sobbed. Oh come on, I hear you say, you’re a man, men aren’t supposed to cry like that over a film, not even gay men, not straight acting gay men anyway. I don’t care, emotion isn’t just the province of women and stereotypical effeminate theatre types, and no one has a monopoly on tears. I cry at films, get over it. Any roads up, there I was at half past three in the morning quietly sobbing into what was left of a bottle of white wine as Withnail blasted away all preconceptions that the reason he couldn’t get an acting job was because he was a lousy actor. He proves that he is in fact an enormously talented actor as he puts his heart into portraying one of literatures most tragic heroes and in so doing he reveals, bottle in hand, his own tragedy as the weather storms around him, alcohol addiction has usurped his talent. The audience can only watch in stunned silence as he then slowly walks away into the drenching rain, he is every bit as tragic and self destructive as Hamlet himself. See, read my diary and you get culture and a film critique mixed in with the mundane and the plain filthy. My quiet understated sobbing was a bit louder and more stated than I imagined consequently waking up both Dick and Shane who came downstairs to what was going on.

Dick was as kind and sympathetic as you would expect murmuring sweet endearments and gathering me into his arms, holding me as I saltily soaked the modest array of downy hair on his chest. Shane didn’t say anything. He switched off the TV and tidied away my mess of glass, bottle and empty crisp packets; I don’t like to drink on an empty stomach, taking them into the kitchen. When he came back he dismissed Dick who gave me a kiss and obediently went back to bed leaving Shane and I alone. We had a somewhat unequal conversation in so much as the moment I opened my mouth he sharply told me to close it and to keep it closed before proceeding to do all the talking, some people just have to monopolise all the conversation. He did one of those Q & A things, you know the type I mean, he asked a question then answered it himself, it can be quite frustrating as you know that his answers lack a certain unique dimension, i.e. yours. Anyway, the conclusion of this somewhat schizophrenic chat was that basically I was up shit creek without a paddle, a rowing paddle that is, though I heavily suspected that some other kind of paddle was looming large over the horizon of my arse. I’d breached several conditions of previously imposed discipline dating back to the previous Wednesday when Shane had finally ran out of patience with me regarding recent behaviour. No alcohol for a fortnight was one of them, no mooching around sleepless in the wee small hours dwelling on things I had no power to change, was another, if I really couldn’t sleep then I didn’t suffer alone I woke one or other of them up for company and comfort, taking solitary and destructive refuge in booze served no purpose except to make me feel worse. Then he said the words guaranteed to make my stomach clench, ‘we’ll discuss this further in the morning,’ a euphemism for ‘resign your arse to the prospect that sitting comfortably for a day or two is doomed.’ And so proved the case. Yesterday morning found me face down over Daddy’s lap as his tongue lashed my ears and his hand, and then a wood paddle dispensed retribution to my errant bottom, and hard enough to bruise both cheeks. Don’t feel too sorry for me though, in this kind of lifestyle some things have hard limits and are non-negotiable, such as obeying previously appointed restrictions, which I hadn’t, if you break the rules you pay the price, that’s the way it is.

So, what’s been going on I hear you ask, what brought about this lack of mirth? I’ll put it in a nutshell…I discovered what was ailing my mother; you know from my diary that I’ve been worried about her lately. She has cancer. I still haven’t got my head around it. Just writing the words is upsetting; it lends authority to the thought I’ve been holding in my head, giving it a hard inescapable form. It’s such an ugly frightening word. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be told you have cancer, let alone to be told that it's advanced and that long term survival chances are unlikely. I was shocked by the news, who the hell wouldn’t be, in fact shock doesn’t go anywhere near explaining the range of emotions I felt when she told me. I went to pieces a bit, okay a lot. Hell, I’m off crying again now, it’s fucking stupid, some days I can think about it almost dispassionately, like it isn’t real and other days it just overwhelms me. I’m sitting here pathetically dripping snot and tears all over the keyboard. I’ll continue later when I’ve got more of a grip on myself.
MAY 2007