I can't believe it has been a week since I wrote last. It's amazing sometimes how diffifult it is for me to upload these entries of mine. I have no modem at home, only a word processor (ancient at that!) which I can save my entries as text files. I rely either on the web connection at work or that of friends to send these files into cyberspace. I've got to be sneaky about it as well - my friends and coworkers are such types that are interested in what I am doing on the computer and would tend to peek over my shoulder as I upload entries. Right now I'm locked in the office at subrocket under the guise of doing books on a tuesday afternoon.

Since I wrote last ChI and I have been on better speaking terms. We went out for coffee a few days ago and hashed some things out. Turns out she knew about Gena but didn't really care much. I think more than anything she was just upset that I hadn't called her first. That's my stubbornness coming through once more I suppose - in an effort not to be played the fool. She knows I hate to support her childish need for attention but I really do care about her a great deal. It's pretty fucked up.

Last night I spent a few hours over at discodave's house. What an odd person, his living room was decorated for the christmas season with little pieces of red and green sea glass hanging by the ceiling from strings. It was awfully pretty and made little clinking noises as they bumped together in the air. It was nearly impossible to navigate his small living room with these decorations though - they hung at face-height and ended up being quite an obstacle the more wine we drank. I confided in dave that I had been working on a writing project (though I didn't mention to him it was online). If anyone read my writing here with an open mind it would probably be Dave - not one to judge someone when a project is done purely in the name of art and not slander.

We enjoyed well over a bottle of wine, sitting crosslegged on the straw mat in the center of the room.. I smoked nearly half of his cigarettes but being the generous type discodave never complains. It reminded me of the days (years ago now) when we'd side his motorcycle out past the highway and drink beer on jee's porch in the evening. It's like a sort of zen in a way where we would just seclude into ourselves and not worry about much else besides the state of the mosquitos biting our necks. It seems my life is so full of running from place to place that I treasure these moments of relative tranquility.

By the time I left dave's it was nearly 1am and I was pretty drunk. I stumbled back to my apartment and called ChI. After talking on the phone for a bit she came over and lay down with me. I don't know how much sense I was making but it was nice to be understood and to have her next to me again. I fell asleep with her touching my face and speaking softly into my ear.

Dean