You know what I hate? I hate that I just wrote a very long entry that, upon reflection, I don't feel comfortable posting here. That sucks. Too many readers. I need a third journal--a semi-private journal where I can post my crankiness that I don't want to share with the world but that I do want to share with my comprades. Damnation. I knew this would happen.

It's just, it's been a long hard day. A long hard week and a long hard weekend and a long hard day. I just wanted to get a beer and let my guard down. That's all. Hell.

I must practice my samurai technique a little more. I'm pretty good at detachment. I was thinking tonight, as I drove to RCC to turn in my final grades, listening to Steve Earle sing about how he'd die if you were to go, if any one of y'all happened to leave me (and you know who you are--you are my lovely righteous babes whom I love), I'd be all right. I'd be sad, but I'd be all right. The only one on god's green earth I can sing that song to is old Bashi. He's got my whole heart, he does. I guess the same goes for you all out there (meaning, I could disappear, and I know some of you would be terrible in your grief, but you'd be all right in the end). It's funny thing to realize how not crucial to anyone you are. Except Bashi (again and forever). But I'm not, am I. I mean, I have people on this planet who love me, really love me. Who know me, all my icky yucky parts, and love me still. That's a blessing, I know. But I'm sure there's not one person on this planet for whom my existence is crucial. It's discomfiting.

But the samurai must be willing to let requited love go. I am trying to learn that peace, trying to learn to be peaceably alone. I must let go of my expectations. That's the first thing. Unselfish love. I've been trying to learn that one since sfitz broke me all to pieces and still I loved him. And still I love him. No expectations. Take that risk to love, with not one small sliver of hope in return. That's what I'm learning. I'll make a samurai yet.

I do not always want to be alone, the small sad part of me protests. I want a family. I want a partner and I want babies, I do. I always wanted babies. I want to be, like Joni Mitchell says, the lady of the canyon: "all the cats and babies run to her, and none are fat and none are thin." I still want that. I want my small wee house in the country with my babies and my dogs and my goats and my kittens and my you who, I think, is nowhere to be found, just at the moment he is most needed.

But the samurai has no such thoughts. I will work on it.

What I'm not so good at: acceptance. Seeing people as they are, without frustration, without recrimination. Seeing weakness in other people. I tend to take it as an affront. It ain't, I know it. Your problems ain't got piss all to do with me.

Right then. I have to turn in. Tomorrow in the wee morning hours I have to make my special something or other for the party at work and I have to find a book to wrap up to bring with me. I'm not going to feel bad and I'm not going to feel regret and I'm not going to feel like a failure. Those things are choices. I made a mistake with my trust, with a lot more than that too, but it was my mistake and now it's time to move along little doggie. Fare thee well my faithfuls.