...I have no idea what is going on.

Again.

Why do I never know what is going on?

I've got the "Bushwhacked" episode from Firefly playing on the television across from my bed. My hair is almost dry from my earlier shower, damp and wavy black. Stomach is full of salmon sashimi I picked up after class at 99 Ranch.

Last night, The Bassist came over. I cut up some tri-tip, sauteed it in a three cheese spaghetti sauce mixed with sliced garlic cloves. We talked about his latest music project, he played some of it for me from his website. It's rapidly taking off, very unexpected for him, since it was just a demo.

It was good to see him. It has been a few weeks since we went to see The Residents at The Music Box, a few weeks since he stuttered mid-conversation when I leaned forward to use the rearview mirror to re-apply my lipstick.

He's adorable.

He has the same birthday as GV8, the same birthday as my uncle.

I called GV8, fresh from the shower, stomach full. I knew the conversation we were about to embark on would upset me, would leave me in tears, would leave me not wanting to eat at all, much less shower. And I knew I'd likely get sick afterwards... did not want to do so on an empty stomach- dry heaves make me feel out of control because you don't know when they'll end.

We talked.

A lot is going on with him. Whenever I call him he just starts telling me everything. I love it because he wants to share with me, wants to disclose, loves to tell me what is going on with all his projects.

He's shutting down his company. He's dumping money into his club. He gave all his employees their one month notice on Monday, started going through all the meetings to close his accounts with his vendors.

And other things are going on.

Finally, we got to me. How I had been holding up this week. He hadn't been doing too good, very distracted with thoughts of me, of our unexpected sex, how every time we see each other our connection grows.

I started with how I planned. Essentially, this could have been the last real conversation we ever have. I needed to make sure I told him everything I felt I had to tell him. So I started with love. Started with trust. Started with the feelings I have when we're apart, that moldy taint that makes me feel so wrong inside.

He echoed.

And before I could shift and end things for the time being... he started telling me how he had spent the last couple months, since he dumped me, thinking if it had been the right thing to do. Second thoughts. Third thoughts. Every time we would meet, he would continue to rethink his decision.

He had been weakening.

Did I feel this, with my continued hunt of him?

Or was I just that secure in the "Us"?

We talked about how things were changing in his life, how much was in turmoil, how he needed his head in the game, how he wondered if he was truly meant to be single- if that was the lifestyle for him.

I told him how I felt. I did not press him for a decision.

I told him that I knew he was under a lot of stress, that he would not have a good deal of time for me, but I wanted to be the one he comes to for downtime, for connect, for love, until things settle down and we can figure out what we're doing.

He said he didn't know. That he was worried that we'd be together for the next ten years and he'd suddenly wake up and realize he's an eternal bachelor, and I'd have wasted my fertile youth on a forty-four year old man with a vasectomy.

I reminded him I had already made my decision when I went to him last December. No kids, no monogamy, probably no marriage, possibility of him leaving me.

I knew.

He could not tell me what his decision was. I knew he would not be able to. He's a thinker. He usually needs a few days to weigh these things, add in all the other crap he's got going on... it's likely going to be awhile.

But it's not over yet. He's not lost to me. I could cry from relief.

Of course, in a few days, I could be crying without an end to the tears in sight.

I don't know what's going on.

But I did make my decision. I did go to take a stand, to cut myself free so I could work on learning to live without him.

Tomorrow, an old lover is coming to town. I'm going to take him clubbing, he's going to give me some bodywork- no euphemism, he's possibly the best masseuse I've ever experienced, is going to be moving to San Fran soon to be the masseuse-in-residence at a spa/hotel/thing.

Saturday evening is the memorial for one of the few friends I had who killed themselves last year.

Sunday, is a marathon. My parents are hosting a party afterwards for some of my father's business associates. Which means I get to oversee things, dress up and look nice for the business people. Yes, of course we are a functional, happy family. No, nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?

Gyeh, what a poorly written post. Tired, surprised by GV8. Trying not to let that hope bubble up in my chest, leave me dreaming, then leave me crushed.

I would spend my life with him. I would be his counterpart, his assistant, doer of laundry, folder of socks, arranger of parties, giver of spectacular head, confidant and cuddle companion.

He's everything to me.

Let's see how much more I can break this heart of mine.