It's been a rather long week. My coworker, Mrs. Fluff, had what I would call a nervous breakdown . . . It's so time for me to move on. I don't know what to say about her. She's what I would call my closest thing to a buddy here in Houston. I'm fond of my friendships with older people. She's a--colorful individual. She's maintained a relationship with the same man for 25 years. No matter that he's married to another woman, and oh did I mention she was also married at the time, well still is legally, but has lived with her boyfriend for the last 10 years. NO, not the man she's been in love with for the last 25 years. Anyway. It's a crazy life I'm sure. But her breakdown was all work related. I don't know why I'm typeing about this.

I got very confrontational with Habibi this week. I'm getting to the point where it's painful to me to know that he can't just choose me. I resent that and I've become short with him. I had this dream last night that we were on some cruise together where he promptly made random friends instead of focusing on rebuilding our relationship. I was left in the dust pretty much, the hanging out with these new buds more important than fullfilling my wishes. We were at some swanky dining hall on the ship having meals prepared by some celebrity chef, the shrimp on my plate started walking around. I was outraged and confronted the pompous VERY handsome celebrity chef who didn't give a damn that I had reanimated shrimp walking around on my plate and wouldn't make things right. I said he had crossed the wrong fellow and I was going to take my complaints straight to the top. To which he replied that by that I must mean Mr. J.W. Marriot and that it wouldn't matter in the least since Mr. Marriot was evidently the celebrity chef's bedroom bitch. I informed him that by taking my complaints to the top I didn't mean Mr. Marriot but would be lodging my complaints directly with Ms. Oprah Winfrey and Mr. Jerry Springer. At this he looked a bit concerned and I felt triuphant. When I returned to the table Habibi's new friends were mocking my temper and had eaten my meal and had nothing to return to the chef and he snidely commented that it must have been an exceptable meal since there was none left. Nobody was backing me up including Habibi. I felt soooooo betrayed and angry. I woke up and was absolutely seathing with anger. I couldn't shake it and ended up having to read for hours to get myself back to sleep at all. I think the stress of trying to be supportive for Habibi is getting to me, and I need to have some sort of moving on closure for myself.

I feel like I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. I'm hopelessly flawed at forming a lasting relationship. The gay community is engineered for a quick fuck in the back room, not growing old together and holding hands together in church on Sunday mornings.

hmm. Bleh.

Did I mention that I won another scholarship this semester? Yeah, I'm using it for a class with Patrick Palmer. I brillian artist in his own right. Very demanding and highly instructive fellow. I'm taking a class from him that focuses on realism . . . I'm decidedly not a realist. But I feel it's vitally important to understand it to successfully delve into abstraction.