As Mike Yanakita would say: I'm so lonely.

Matt left for Massachusetts on Saturday morning, on a vacation he's been planning for a while. He hasn't called. (Why hasn't he called?) He hasn't e-mailed. He's given no indication that he's been thinking of me. I, on the other hand... I can't think of anything else.

Last night, I saw a commercial for a stupid plastic egg maker that makes "perfect fluffy omelets" and I thought of him (he's been making omelets lately and they haven't been coming out right). I passed cigar stores and I made my usual mental note to tell Matt about it... before I remembered. I even thought of him when I got a bag full of latex gloves from my mother... although I'm not going to go into the "why" on that one. 

There's nothing but irony here. He's the one who always said I would leave him. He's the one who promised to marry me in two years. He's the one who was jealous and possessive and insecure. He was always worried that he was trying harder, and loving more. So why is he the one leaving?

Spending time with other people has reinforced something: Matt is the only person I can be completely myself around. I mean, not even with my best friend can I be so completely at ease. For instance, I could never mope around Tim. He's not the "cry on my shoulder" kind of guy and he wouldn't stand for it. So I kind of use him to distract myself. We go out, we hopefully have a decent time. But I can't be myself around him. I never could. I'm always holding something back-- my goofy side. My insecure side. My affectionate side.

I feel sometimes like hurting Matt back for all the pain he's causing me. But the only weapon I have to wield is my friendship and I suspect it's not much of a weapon. How sad. I've devalued my own friendship to the point that I honestly don't think he'll care if I take it away. 

Oh, fuck it. I'm getting tired of my self pity. (No, it's not just you.) And so I'm going to drag myself onto a new topic even if I have to crawl on bloody knees. Here I go...

Renfield played on Saturday night. I've been forcing myself not to sit around the apartment and mope, and I knew this was my last chance to see Renfield for a long time, so I allowed myself to be coerced.

Tim and I got totally lost trying to find the venue, but we finally arrived. We had enough time to head a few blocks down the street to a Thai restaurant (called tuk tuk) for dinner. I ordered something called chicken larb. How could I resist something with such a cool name? It's just fun to say. Larb. Try it with me.

Unfortunately for me, that's the last good thing I have to say about the larb. It was the opposite of coffee. You know how coffee smells about a million times better than it tastes? I mean I do like coffee, but you must know what I mean. The smell of fresh coffee grounds is orgasmic, whereas a cup of coffee is just... you know... nothing special. Coffee. 

So the larb tasted okay, but it smelled rancid. It had the most horrifying smell. And the consistency was equally revolting. It looked like the cook took a chicken breast, ate it, vomited it back onto a plate and covered it with lime dressing. I tried to convince myself that it was okay (after all, the taste wasn't bad) but I eventually gave up.  The larb stuck in my throat for the rest of the night, though... and even now, I can't really think about it without feeling queasy.

After dinner (and with me feeling vaguely nauseous) we headed to the club to see Renfield. They replaced their violin with an electric guitar, but it honestly didn't sound that much different. They still have the same great energy, and they played Circus Train Lament, which is one of my favorite songs. I was talking to Marz (the lead singer) afterwards, and I asked about my favorite song ever, "The Goat is Sexy". He told me that it was part of the "old set" and they won't be playing it again.

Another tragedy in the life of Mo.

The next band was called sweet william. I thought they were quite good; they reminded me of the Barenaked Ladies somewhat. They have a keyboard player who also does backup vocals, and her mike was turned down so low you could barely hear her. I said, "She's probably the lead singer's girlfriend, and she thinks she can sing, but she has a shitty voice, so he gives her a microphone and they don't turn it on, and they pretend she's part of the band." 

I'm sure it's not true, but it made me giggle. And once I had exerted myself enough to generate that bon mot, I sat at the bar, sipped my drink, listened to the music and felt sorry for myself. 

(Sorry. Relapse.)

I'm rather daunted by the amount of mail in my inbox that I haven't answered yet. I think I'm just going to delete some of it, as much as I hate to do that. It's just too painful a topic to keep revisiting, and I hope you'll understand, and know how much I appreciate the sympathy and empathy and everything. 

Now that I know how much it helps, I'll be sending e-mail to the downtrodden much more frequently. So your karma is continuing to bounce around the 'net, and no doubt will be coming back to you from somewhere. Never fear. 

I do want to announce, however, that I will be traveling to New York with all speed this Wednesday. I need a vacation, and damnit, I'm going to take one. Stay tuned. 

I think we would both agree that people in love have the capacity to delude themselves into believing that their relationship is "the one" when it really isn’t.