Today I go back to college.

I've taken from the fall of '98 off, and now I'm returning to school as a full time student. I'm scared. Excited too. I'm attending at Virginia College in Birmingham, Alabama. It's what is termed a career college, meaning it has less emphasis on liberal arts and more on vocational training. For me that mean more computer stuff...I got my A+ certification two days ago. That was nice...it placed me into school two quarters further along. My fiance was pleased...she's looking forward to a life after school for us. Speaking of fiances'...

In the last 7 months I've

  • bought a house
  • lost my job
  • started a business
  • gotten engaged
  • returned to school
  • gotten my first professional certification
It's been a crazy time, but probably the most exciting of my life.

Hope tomorrow goes well...I can't wait.

Today I helped move my girlfriend out from her house, back to her mother's many miles away. During the past six months or so, Ann has been living at a student cooperative here in town. For the uninitiated, a cooperative is sort of like a commune, where the people who live there share chores, upkeep payments, food, and so forth. This one in particular is a great environment with twenty-odd interesting young people, a short walk to campus and downtown, and spectacularly cheap rent. Only two weeks ago Ann had loved living in this near-perfect living arrangement, but as of today she is gone forever.

Ann had been depressed on and off for months, because of the death of a housemate she had been friends with, among sundry other reasons. A little less than a month ago she began feeling actually physically ill, alternating between nausea and muscle pain and quick-onset headaches. Just as it seemed the depression was slackening its hold this shit started up, more hardship for someone who doesn't deserve it. About this same time a new house member, James, had moved in.

Now, let me tell you a little bit about James. James and I got along surprisingly well, better than anybody else I'd met at the house to that point. We shared tastes in drugs, anime, video games, etc. Plus, although he was much better at communicating with the fairer sex than I, we both tended to be quiet and observant in large groups or conversations. As hard as it is to say now, James seemed to be the first real friend I'd made at the house, the first person who would invite me over to drink or chill out.

James also had paranoid schizophrenia, and was none too fond of his meds.

At any rate, about a week ago one of Ann's good friends at the house mentioned that she might know why she had been feeling so bad. Ann had gone through blood tests, dropped all her medications (legal and otherwise), changed diet a couple of times, and tried everything else she could think of to solve her problem -- all of these actions were ineffectual. We had even gone through the Pregnancy Scare Dance twice, with negative results both times. If Ann's friend had some privileged window on the problem, Ann was more than willing to find out what she saw.

For my part, I was vaguely worried that the friend's opinion would turn out to be some permutation on the idea of ghosts, since two people from the house had died that year. Ann's friend is pretty well known for being attuned to "spiritual" matters, so the worry wasn't that far fetched. While I respect others' beliefs, I was sincerely hoping that the friend wouldn't put a bunch of nonsense into my girlfriend's head and make her scarred for no good reason.

James, meanwhile, had been engaging in increasingly bizarre behavior that many house members weren't even aware of. As I heard it, he told a total of three girls who live at the house about the voices in his head, and how they told him he should kill himself, how at night he could here everybody in the neighborhood whispering about him. Needless to say, the girls were pretty disturbed by this, but none of them really knew what to do or say. Ann and here friend were two of those three, and I know from talking to Ann that they were both mightily creeped out.

From this you can probably guess what Ann's friend's theory actually was: that James's strange attitude was making Ann so anxious that she got sick. Ann concurred, and started sleeping at my place and with her aunt to avoid staying at the house. This was despite my objections that schizophrenia was dirt common, rarely caused violence towards others, shouldn't be a basis for discrimination, and blah blah blah. Being friends with James made me blind to the fact that he could realistically be a threat.

Of course, I was wrong. The first day Ann was gone James was twice caught walking around the halls listening in to people's rooms and looking through the unlocked ones. The next day she and her friend came back to pick up some stuff and see how everyone was doing. As Ann was working in her room she heard screaming from downstairs. Later she and a guy that lived at the house would agree that their first thought was "Oh no, somebody else just died."

It turned out that it was actually Ann's friend screaming. She had opened her door to find her room ransacked, even though she had left it double-locked. In the middle of the floor was a note in black ink, which said FUCK YOU, FUCK ALL OF THIS, I DON'T HAVE TO TAKE IT and was signed with James's and a score of near-illegible made-up names. Nobody has seen James since then, not even his non-house friends. Which brings us back to the first sentence of the first paragraph: Today I helped move my girlfriend out from her house, back to her mother's many miles away.

A buddy of mine takes me to a Chinese restaurant last night. Shows me this waitress- tells me that I need to see her

"She looks like a model!"

Except that she doesn't, she looks better than that.
Dark, wavy hair, shoulder length, held in a ponytail by a single strand of black ribbon, almond colored skin and bright blue eyes with specks of lights in them.

"You lied," I tell him, in front of her, "she doesn't look like a model." (She pretends to look away, but she is pulls at her ponytail while she does so). " If she was a model I would actually buy stuff they were selling. " He laughs outloud and she gives a halfgrin:

Food perhaps? she asked. I just nodded and tried to get eye contact
Didn't happen.

........I'll tell you why I'm not for prayer in schools. Not all prayers are amenable to a "moment of silence" in the classroom. Some prayers take more than a moment; some prayers are not consistent with silence; some prayers can not take place in a classroom.

Let us say for example, that you are a Fundamentalist Christian who believes that every word of the Bible is literal truth, and to you this means praying at the moment the teacher pauses the class and asks for a moment spent in reflection. Let us say that I, then, am a Fundamentalist Christian who believes that when Jesus said

"When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites! They love to stand up and pray in the synagogues and on the street corners so that everyone will see them..."

...He meant it. For me, this means "...when you pray, go to your room and close the door, and pray to your Father, who is unseen." We both are sincere Fundamentalist Christians, although I take the word of God more to heart than you do. Why should our taxdollar-supported schools set aside a special time for your type of praying, and not mine?

Also: I Meet The Monster from High School, and Remember the Dead One

Elsewhere at Everything

Homo Nodor Stubbornis

Editorium238

Spread upon water
reflections of the unseen
something in nothing

It is time to go. I feel as though I am about to throw myself into a void, an unfamiliar darkness. I do not know where I may land but I am ready, relaxed and poised to roll and find my feet on new ground. Travel to see myself in a new way. I am the same only the perspective has changed. People may travel to see new places or to escape themselves, all they ever do is see themselves in a new light, in a way that is unknown. It is not a search to find myself, only a desire to see more.

These are the thoughts that find me in the middle, reading a new author, my life creeping into every word. It’s queer to find familiarity from the other side of the world but never surprising, that reminder that it is not so foreign after all.

With any luck at all in a few weeks I will be on a boat in the north pacific, working for a living and watching the stars.

I'm not going back to NYC this semester. What a fucking blow. I talked it over with my parents, and they just can't afford to pay for me to go to school in Brooklyn any more. So I'm taking at least a semester off to get a job and see about taking classes down here in good old DE.

Fucking yay.

I have to go up the first weekend of the semester to move out and say goodbye to all my friends and brothers. That's gonna be the worst. I guess hopefully I'll be able to figure myself out a little while I'm here, living with my parents and being really really bored, but aside from that, I don't really know what else there's gonna be for me to do. Guess dannye is going to have to deal with more of my shit than he bargained for for the next several months. (sigh). Well, it's all for the best...



or something...

Well I've been up for 25 hours now. Saddly, most of that time has been spent here. Sitting in front of the computer with about 3 windows open. At least one of those being E2.

I am not doing well. Mentally that is. I feel like I'm losing my mind. It is extremely frightening. Have you ever heard something, or seen something that wasn't even there?

During the night I got some of the work done for my psychology class, noded, and chatted a bit. Unfortunatly I also did a few things I am not proud of. Things I did to cope with the overwhelming feelings...

During the day I worked on the school work, noded, chatted a bit, and argued with my family, and talked to my ex boyfriend. We are still friends, my ex and I. We always were friends. All through high school and beyond. We dated for a while and I gave him the dreaded "Let's just be friends" speach. He came over to drop off something he had borrowed from me and stayed hours. I thought he would never stop gossiping and go home.

Now I'm starting to feel sleepy...but...I am afraid. Afraid of those dreams.

The nightmares....

Dream Log: January 13, 2002 (idea) and Dream Log: January 12, 2002 (idea) are examples.

Am I greedy, selfish and unable to live self-sufficiently? My sister seems to think so.

The majority of my life I have dedicated myself to helping out others, putting myself last and making sure everyone is feeling great. I like doing this. It makes me feel good about myself, and gives me a little extra reason to wake up in the morning. But, like everyone else - I have horrible attitude problems. I'm arrogant, unintentionally annoying, and overly clingy. But, generally, I'm a complete pussy when it comes to giving into my sister's evergrowing wants and needs.

My sister likes to have things her way. That's pretty much the way she is - and to stop a barrage of frantic, engraged insults and unadulterated screaming, (not that dissimular to of a 10 year old), people like to give in quickly and easily. This goes for both of my parents, her boyfriend, and myself. It's been happening since she was a little girl, and even now, at the ripe age of 17, she's still a complete and utter pain in the arse.

Last week I came across the bargain buy of a 1989 Hyundai Sonata, for $500. After a visual assessment and examination of the vehicle I decided to purchase it in the next few weeks. On calling my father that night, I mentioned the car to him, where I was then surprised to find out he was in the process of buying a car for me already. A 1987 Mazda 323 to be exact. Sure, registration and insurance were my responsibility, but I didn't mind at all.

Zoom to today. I got a phone call from my dad asking me if I wanted to see this car this afternoon. Yes!. So I travelled down to Graceville, anxiously awaiting the first glance and drive of my very first car. It was fantastic. (My favourite colour) Silver, Great condition, drove like a dream. We told the owners we would take it.

Later I arrived home and proceded to inform my sister about the car. Then suddenly, she jumps up and proceeds to scream incessentally about how the car is half hers as well and it doesn't matter how much I pay for everything in it, it's not mine and will never be mine. Forget the fact her boyfriend will drive her everywhere she wants, buys her whatever she wants and does everything she wants.

Who is the one who is selfish? My mother seems to think it's me.

The person you opened the door for who didn't even look at you to recognize that you did them a favor. The person who cuts into your lane almost hitting you, swerves back, and then looks at you like your the asshole for staying in your lane. The person who ruins something of yours and then comes up with a reason why it is your fault,

"Why didn't you put a sign on it so I would know not to touch it."

"What? Huh, oh I am sorry I guess I should count on your stupidity everytime I do something that you could easily mess up by being dumb!"

What the hell is happening to people these days. It seems more and more that I meet dumb, rude, or naive people. I walk through the AM/PM and I see people coming out with their hands full, so I hold the door. Now I don't really expect a thank you, but they walk right by like I am a door stop. No glance to acknowledge me, no thank you, nothing! I am sorry if my parents tought me that when somebody does anything for you that they didn't have to do, you atleast acknowledge what they did. Now many people might say that I am merely over reacting, but damnit I am tired of attitudes of the people I come across in my day to day life. Say thank you, let the person in front of you merge, help the old woman in the wheelchair stand up, be civilized and do one nice thing for one person. It won't kill you (contrary to popular belief).

It isn't just the rude things people do that bug me, but also the level of intelligence the average person displays. The other day I took an old tire and filled it with concrete, in the center I placed a chain deep in the concrete with about two links coming out of the top. I then suspened the chain with a length of rope to keep it from drying into the top of the concrete. Now this is in my garage and the concrete is curing, usually takes about 72 hours for concrete to cure. A friend comes over and we are showing him around the new house, I take him into the garage and the first thing, I mean first thing he does is walk up to the rope, says "What's this" with a non-cloakely chuckley and proceeds to give the rope a sturdy yank. He has just pulled my chain out of half dry concrete, thanks! Now, oh well it was an accident, and yes I did give a look like "what the hell." I wasn't really mad, he didn't mean to but this is what he said to me.

"Man, you should have but a don't touch sign on it."

All I could think at that point was, "No, you shouldn't go around touching every little thing just because you don't know what it is. You are 21 not 3, right?" He didn't say "sorry that was my fault", he gave me a reason my it was mine. Couldn't he have just taken credit, no responsibility for his actions. I see that more and more these days, people not taking responsibility. What gives, just say I screwed up.

What is going on that people are acting the way they do. Nobody respects the common stranger unless they are scared of him or her. The level of intelligence seems to grow smaller each year. I mean, we are in the 20th century not the 3rd. We as a civilization are supposed to be growing, or something, right?

It is enough to make me want to node about it! Gahhhhh. I am not trying to say I am smarter or more polite than everyone else out there, but I make attempts. I know where my hands should and shouldn't be and I don't need somebody walking behind me saying "Don't touch that" or "Say thank you." I did when I was five. Do you?

Jessica returned to Toronto on the weekend, after three weeks in Ottawa. It was the longest that we've gone without seeing each other over the course of this relationship, and although I'm sure the space did us both some good, I did miss her terribly. We're going to be celebrating our belated two-year anniversary this weekend, and I'm rather looking forward to it. It should be nice.

...

Venk is back in Ottawa, for good.

For his own reasons, he's decided he doesn't want to continue living in Toronto, and he's out of the house, effective immediately. His cousin, Naveen, will be moved out May 1st. As a result, Paul Dupuis is staying here, and we're looking for another roommate to move in, and help out with rent.

The situation may sound fairly calm, but in reality, it was emotional, messy, and feelings were hurt on all sides. I'd rather not go over the details, suffice it to say that we very nearly lost the house, and thus were out on the street, with hardly a month's notice.

...

For Christmas, I gave Jes art supplies. Watercolours and Chinese inks, thirsty horse-hair brushes to paint with, and practice books for both mediums. I'm hoping she'll find some use in them.
Today my middle child, my little boy, is five years old! So, apparently, LaylaLeigh's friend Tara and I have children who share the same birthday. Ahhhhhhhh...

I went into work a bit late so that I could see the birthday boy's face when he woke up and ran into the living room to discover his new bike. Totally worth going into work late for.

I am feeling a bit of a zombie today because I stayed up late last night to push out an article that was due a week ago. Wups.

On the whole, life is pretty good.

The only potential monkey wrench in the works is this: My editor just asked me to take on an assignment that I had originally assigned to someone else--specifically because I knew that the timing would suck for me to do it. So, I need to chat with her on that, and I am dreading that, as I try to be accommodating where possible--but I need to have a fairly clear schedule in the next couple of weeks. Stuff is happening that will influence events for some time to come. Yup, change is in the air for Feldar; I'll share as events come to pass.

I really, truly can't do this work any more. I know I am not stupid, but I'm sitting in front of this fucking monitor feeling like my brain weighs about 3 kilos. Oh wait - it does. Well, maybe a lot of people feel like this, then. 3 kilos of mush in our skulls that works fine some days, and then on others turns into an electro-colloidal mess only good for poetry and compulsive noding.

I used to be a good software developer. I have a good, logical mind and a creative approach to solving problems, and I can work very hard when something motivates me. The problem is, when something doesn't motivate me, I just can't do it. I've been like this ever since I started going to school - standing behind my chair as punishment for playing and talking when the rest of the class were learning their ABC. Why didn't I want to learn my ABC? Because I'd been reading for nearly 3 years and I was so bored I would have cried if I didn't have such a famously sunny disposition. Instead of sending me to a higher class (he'll find it too hard to make friends) or giving me something else to do (there's nothing special about you, you know), they punished me in various ways which only served to make me lose almost all of my respect for people older than me. On my first day in school when I was 5, after several hours of making Lego towers and watching the girl next to me pee herself and cry, I walked up to the nun supervising us and asked when we would be starting mathematics. This became a funny anecdote for many years to come.

Fast forward. Age 27. I feel stupid. Am I any stupider than I was back then? I really don't think so. If I want to learn something, I can learn it, whatever it is. But, after 27 years of learning things, I have come to the point where the things I want to learn are mostly not known. You can read about them in books, you can talk to people who claim to have learned them, but mostly you have to just find your own way, like a planet-sized game of Blind Man's Bluff, all the little boys and girls reaching around for each other with giggles and bumps and stumbles.

I want to learn about compassion. Love. Enlightenment. Consciousness. I'm learning things which don't have words to describe them. I'm learning about things which most people don't believe, and most people who do believe them don't understand. I'm learning about how to be a truthful person, how to know when my ego is fucking up my life, how to sit still for 20 minutes and watch my thoughts go by. I'm learning what thoughts are made of: the tiny, momentary feelings and fragments that make up even the smallest concept that flashes through our brains. I'm learning about the complexity and fascination of even the smallest human interactions.

Fuck this software job - I'm learning about the software running in my own brain, modelling it, feeling it working, seeing where the impulses come from and where they lead. I'm learning how to redirect my thoughts, how to change the patterns of my life. I'm learning what the fuck I was born for in the first place, not how to waste my time here until I die. I'm learning how to throw things away, and how to gather the things that matter. They don't teach you these things in school, or college, or work. They don't even teach you anything that will help you to learn them later. They don't teach them to you, because they don't know. Or maybe everyone knows these things - maybe we all know how to be real people, but we've let ourselves be persuaded over time that it's not worth it.

It's not my job's fault. I doubt there's any job I could do right now without feeling like this. I just hope I find a way to deal with this without totally losing my ability to function as a useful human being. You can't eat enlightenment.

A note to my wife, who deserves more:

You have made my life better. I'll miss us when we're gone. This says so in language I wish I could harness for my own nefarious purposes.


"IF I DON'T MEET YOU IN THIS LIFE,
LET ME FEEL THE LACK."

Now there is almost no sound and at night I am not afraid.
The next world will be made of paper and everything
will have the capacity to fly. Promise me it will be there
as it is here -— the raspberries climbing the trellis, the rivers
blue scripts. Because every story has two endings, I see your body
breaking down, I see you soaring in the light. Be taken with me.
Come pouring down unified.


Amy Quan Barry

i've actually decided to give a shit about my schoolwork again. i don't know why--all of a sudden my psych study skills class, of all things, made me care. funny because i dont care about that class at all! there's no telling... i dunno. i just feel like i really need to study more... i need to officially change schools, becuase although i claim the liberal arts school as home i'm not "legal" there yet... and in other studies, someone slap me next time i go to barnes and noble. i keep spending money there, my pagan/wiccan library is expanding itself again--and would beyond the bounds of my budget, if i let it. eep. in that vein, this room REALLY needs cleaning, both mundanely and magically. and someone yell at me if i dont take defensive driving soon, i've put it off for five months already...

this must be "try to make wuukiee's head explode with weird movies" weekend. in 48 hours, i watched 12 monkies, fantasia 2000, the birdcage, and then fight club, all for the first time. they were all good--hell, the birdcage was just hysterical--but monkies, and more so fight club, were serious brainfucks. i still haven't processed those.

in other news, i'm silently throwing a bitchfit (privately, to myself) about the campus' lesbigay group. (who "invented" the word lesbigay anyways? it's a silly word. why do we feel the need to "invent" new words for everything?). they have posters around campus for the group's callout in a couple days. but the posters are what piss me off. they've got two blonde bimbo cheerleader-meets-britney spears clones, eating a single lollypop together. a LOLLYPOP. the photo looked more like something you would find in playboy than a SUPPORT GROUP. a support group for people who often run into society-acceptance issues, who need to meet others like them, who need support while their friends or family cope, or don't with the news. this group is an activist group, a support group, for a certain group of people who need emotional support, or just a place to feel safe and normal and accepted.

and they put fucking barbiedolls on the callout bill. what kind of message does THAT send? what bloody message?? being lesbian, or bisexual, doensn't all of a sudden make you beautiful and desireable and the pinnacle of femininity. nor will you see those girls if you were to go to the meeting. PEOPLE. normal people. not objects. not anything more or less than anyone else, the straight folks, transsexuals, those who claim neither gender. i just want to know what the hell the people who did this were thinking. these are supposed to be insiders, ones who understand the issues. and they put two "oh come fuck me now i'm sooooo sexy" bitches sucking on a lollypop.

i think i'm going to scream now.

only my wind-up sushi will save me. that makes everything OK. well not really. but if anything could, it would be the walking sushi i got in the mail today ^_^

Is it possible to worry too much about people you love, care, and cherish more than anything? The same person that you hope has the most wonderful life possible in the world, you care this much and you don't know why. You don't question it. Maybe it IS unhealthy.

I don't believe so.

I shouldn't care..she dumped me, but I do, I don't hate myself for it though. I truly love her, I truly wish her to have the best time possible, her downward spiral is continuing, much the way it did 3 months ago. This time she CAN depend on me and rely on me, I'll do anything to help her. So...she probably won't go out with me again, but I can't stand to see her like this.

Maybe I am wrong, maybe she is ok maybe being released from her is making her happy, I am not sure though...I wish I could be 100% certain.

Her friends tell me she was happier than ever with me...what went wrong?

I worry 24/7. It's disrupted my life. I don't do any of my homework or much of anything at all. I went through the depressed stage, that lasted a few days, now it's a monotonous worry. Seemingly endless...

Odd how the first thing I truly care about more than myself, and I don't know if I can do anything for her.

Fuck, why am I such a pussy? I should just ask her!

I fear the things I hold close to myself, I fear the things I say could result in more pain and devestation.

I just don't feel as comfortable as I was before with her...I should though...I really should. "Enough Questions" She doesn't talk as much as before...

there's a house burning down on the radio, we're in love, we don't mind...

so, no shit, i'm sitting here in a borrowed green thermal shirt, which still has sweat and grease on it from its last occupant. i can't help it...i miss the way my little oupyr smells. he called me three times today, but i was at work. i called him back, but he was online. i cursed, i swore, i tried again...no luck. i don't want to be alone tonight, but at least i have slide to keep me company. it's not the same though. i want someone i can sit next to... i used to call my baby up and we'd get real close, just like the telephone was a sofa

you should wish me luck, i've taken my own head off

first day back in the office, back in class...turns out the other workstudy isn't coming back. wish i'd known. i've gotta find someone reliable to take that damn job. someone who won't screw me. someone who knows their arse from their elbow in a small-office environment. if i'm *really* lucky, someone who can take some of my hours while i'm in court. i mean, granted, i get paid more than the other workstudy, but i should not have to take my work home with me to finish it by the deadline. i want to work with someone who works as hard as i do, so i can work only the hours i can bill! is that so much to ask? step back and watch the sweet thing breaking everything she sees

she took me back to the hyatt house...i don't wanna talk about it

so i met this nice boy in my bible as lit course...turns out he's a member of the campus crusade for christ. i didn't have the heart to tell him that i'm a member of the campus crusade for chaos. i inadvertently misplaced him in the bookstore. it was sad. i kinda like him, despite his powerful religious affiliations. he bought me dinner out of the kindness of his heart, or something. when i realised he honestly had christian values, and didn't just spout out his arse about them so he could wear the good-guy badge, i gained an incredible respect for him. it takes balls to give a shit. it takes even more balls to live off financial aid and be charitable.i stand with you in hope that god will sae us from ourselves

"Liberation is when you know that the goddamn dishes are nobody's fault but your own."

I have to hope.

My boyfriend is leaving in a few weeks.

I'm going to miss him so much that it hurts - already. But I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of losing him.

I've already explained to him how it feels to me like we'll be together always and forever. But how can I really explain it? It's not the childhood dreams I used to have about other boyfriends, silly daydreams of our wedding day, looking at our first house. Sure, I still do that, but this feeling isn't about that, has nothing to do with that.

This feeling came the moment I met him. I knew I had to be with him, and from that day I tried my hardest to get to know him. I have never felt such attraction to someone. Sure, he's sexy, but I didn't just want his body, I wanted all of him, I asked him every question I could think of, just to get to know him, who he really is. I keep telling him "I didn't even want a boyfriend!", which is entirely true. I had been looking forward to a semester with my friends and myself, and any meaningless flings I decided to have, finally realizing that I didn't have to be engaged before graduation. I had found a great independence, and when he walked down those stairs it was almost like it was ripped away from me. Something inside just said "HIM!". Sometimes it wasn't even conscious. At first I was so swept up in meeting him, I didn't realize what I'd been doing. When I finally felt I could take a break and look back, I realized how different everything had been from previous boyfriends; my actions, my feelings, everything was totally new to me.

This feeling comes when he touches my cheek a certain way. No one has ever touched me as gently, or as sensuosly, as he does. I very rarely feel like I want to ask for more, and if I do, he gives it to me a second later without my saying a word. Have you ever had that? I hope so.

This feeling came when I realized I truly could trust him, with all my heart, the way I've never trusted anyone. And again, when I realized it a second time. He is so gentle, and so honest. The barriers he has are to protect himself from being hurt, not from being discovered.

The part of me that harbors so many irrational fears shouts "He's not coming back! He'll find some excuse, some new girl, something, but he's not coming back." The rational, logical part of me realizes there's a chance, but also realizes that I can't make him love me. And this inner peace seems to constantly reassure me that everything will be ok. It's tough to explain, I guess. But with all of the wonderful things he's brought to me, all of the wonderful experiences, the wonderful parts of myself that he's brought out, the wonderful boyfriend that he's been, I just have to hope.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.