In my dream lastnight, I tried to kill myself. I tried to stop the shit. The entire world was pitch black, except for the saffron hue of street lamps smudged across the wet ebony pavement, and I kept trying to die.

And now I am awake. And the world out my window is pitch black except for the ice blue street lamps�

I think my whole day was ruined by that dream, each attempt was unsuccessful...God, I can't even kill myself unconsciously.

Lately, when I feel lonely, I find myself watching the minutes go by on the bottom of my screen, or the clock on my phone. 8:57 8:58:8:59 9:00�I used to get dressed, and ready, and wait for his call, and feel happy. Because I knew he would call, and I would get to see him � and the world. Because I knew his promises meant something, because I meant something. And I knew he would keep them. But now, I can�t. And he doesn�t keep them. I know that he has no room for me in there. He shoved me out, and let me know to get lost as much as possible.

When I was born, it made no difference to my father�s life. He was passed out drunk the minute I took my first breath. And after that, dragged me to his drug deals, and dumped me off on people to go shoot up, he didn�t even try to be a good father, though still swears he is a good father. That�s how it feels with W now. The fact that I�m alive, means nothing to him. It changes nothing. It kills me everytime he says he didn�t do anything, just sat around the house, because I know that to him, that�s more enjoyable than my company. I am in the way. And he�s going to go do whatever he wants, regardless of meeting me. He�s going to be just like my father, he�s going to leave, as if he never knew me at all. Just another notch in his resume, another girl he fucked. Another dagger in my heart. My pathetic bleeding heart. Who�s bleeding, he doesn�t even appreciate anymore. And I wanted it all to mean so much more than this. Because it should have.

My mother tried to convince me today, after talking with someone else from Value Options, that *this time* things will change, that this time someone will pull through. I got upset and told her to leave me alone, that no one has pulled through in 26 years of my life � am I supposed to believe it�s going to happen now? How much longer am I supposed to believe that my life is going to change for the better � this time � because of this person, or that one thing? In a town where people leave by age 23, because they only came here to go to school, to party, to fuck. They go elsewhere, afterwards, to live. They come back to retire, and remember the good old days when they screwed � they can�t remember her name � but man she was a good lay.

There�s a large fire burning in Edgewood, 30 miles or so south of Santa Fe. The world has gone to silver, and the dull slate hue of storm clouds has fully obliterated any sense of radiance. The entire day has been set to the tune of crashing wind chimes, and leaves of the aspen�s rustling, Wind roaring his way across the fake adobe walls of my apartment building. Blinds crashing into windowsills. Only a faint scream of a child, or an airplane plowing its way across the sky, breaks the noise.

My left eye has started to twitch, it bothers me terribly. I fell asleep this afternoon, till near 5 pm, knowing W wouldn�t call this afternoon, or go anywhere today, as he promised. When I woke up I cried. Again. And then it began to twitch.

�

I wrote that a bit earlier tonight, right before W called.

We talked, well he talked, while playing his FlightSim game. At one point, he said �I have a problem.� And I replied : �only one?� Don�t think I didn�t enjoy getting that one in, after being stood up once again. So, I guess painting, and flying, and uh�being lazy is more important than me � at least we�ve got it straight how valued I am as a person. Lest I go on thinking he *gasp* loves me. Anyway, I got to basically listen to him describe his crashing of various simulated planes into various simulated geographical landscapes, while wondering why it was that I couldn�t be doing all this in person.

And as Josh was nowhere to be seen, I talked to W by AIM tonight - and accidentally said too much, as I usually do by type...if only I could learn to bite my fingers before I type. And stop making an idiot of myself trying to love someone who can't love me back.

So yes, I still feel as if I�m being punished for what his ex�I guess now ex-ex-girlfriend did to him. The path he went down with her is the path he dropped me - his current ex - off on, and let me know to not follow, to not get to near, to not�to not feel what I feel. Because he died with her, and the graveyard in his heart has no room for anyone else. Even though I�m dying inside from not being with him - the no vacancy sign is rather large.

I�m still waiting for him to once again be the way he was in the first two+ months that we knew eachother. Waiting for more heartache, am I? I should have learned the first time around with my father, but I guess I didn�t learn�or maybe I stupidly thought I was special - that only my father didn't notice it. That I deserved to be treated better, and therefore would be treated better, especially by someone who told me he loved me. Someone I hope still loves me. Someone I obviously still love. Because while he can cut it off, and say that's it, my heart has already been done away with, and right now in my life, I need what we started. But I guess I need a lot of things I'm never going to have, so why cry over it all...and no, I couldn't eat today either. Well I did and then I got deathly ill.

Anyway, my Shadow�s eyes are getting better. I have to put goopy ointment on his wounds three times a day, through Monday. It has the consistency of vaseline, which makes it hard to rub in. It just kind of sticks like oil in his wound, rather than sliding on smoothly. But I think it�s working to stop the itch, as he�s been fine since yesterday, and it looks like it�s starting to heal.

And yes, the fact that Eric hasn�t talked to me in months, and Josh, despite his very love-filled, amazing, beautiful poems of me - his Muse, last time we talked, he typed that it may be yet another year before he can start college, add a year on to the time we can meet�I just feel like my life is just one vast ending�the dying and burial of one dream after another.

And the ending of one more journal entry�

~e