It is... 546PM. I'm sitting at a coffee shop in Long Beach, working on my final papers, stressing like hell. I never let school get to me like this. Because I'm smart. Because I'm on it and I write an excellent piece of bullshit.

But I'm stressing. I'm anxious and all over the place and can't think. Can't get my paper organized, can't put it together, which is funny, given the topic of the paper is on writing structure.

I'm still torn up about GV8. Of course I am. It's only been a few days.

I've had three separate bootycall requests, one which I initiated but realized it would be a bad idea. Then I had to cancel that. And then I had two others text me on Saturday and I was sitting there, not wanting the drag of that, knowing that I could easily go to either of them and spend the entire evening not achieving, not doing, what I want to do. Focusing on them.

A complete lack of emotional connection having formed.

I miss SFPlayboy. I do. He's the only lover I've had of late that I've actually formed a connection with, without it going romantic. I want him to come down here and cuddle me, love me, care for me, until I feel better again.

But I doubt that's an option this late in December.

I went up to Umberto's to get my hair done today. About an inch of blonde roots knocked back into my usual dark brown, near black, with red undertones. It feels good, not having that horrible blonde color crowning my head

I'm sad. I'm lonely. I need physical contact and I need for this semester to be over. I know once I finish these two papers, I'll be so much less stressed. And, gods, do I miss GV8, his company, his support, his love and caring. His warmth. Finally being able to experience what it is like to make love.

Realizing how long it is likely going to be until I experience that again.

Sigh.

I haven't cried today, at least not yet. I'm pretty proud of myself.

Okay, not really proud. I feel it behind my eyes, waiting for a little thing to start the waterworks. If I was at home at all this week and I could, once more, inhale the scent of him on my robe, I'm sure I'd start bawling again.

That's the way it goes.

I've yet to look at our pictures from Disneyland, the last real date we went on. We went into the Grand Californian (hotel) and took pictures at the base of the huge tree in the lobby, and then another picture or two at the front of the Cinderella Castle at night, all lit with silver shining lights.

I'll just start crying again.

I'm thinking of emailing them to him, once I take them off the camera. So he has them too. So, years from now, he'll see them and remember us, remember me.

Bah, going to start crying. Need to not do that here. Must distract myself with the academia I'm learning to resent. The things that keep us apart.

If I turn out to be infertile after all this, years from now, I'm going to stab someone.

Update!: HAHAHAHA guess who just texted me about twelve times in a row checking on me and wanting to still be friends?

...thirteen. Okay, now it's thirteen. Thirteen times.

I am never going to finish this paper.

Someone, pretend to be me and write my final for me so I can go rock back and forth in the corner for a half hour or two.