Honey won’t you let yourself speak free.

God, the things I’m turning to to stroke my ego lately. What’s up with that? Reading and re-reading e-mails, unabashed flirting, obsessing over certain people and my relationships with them... Not activities I’m usually overly involved in.

Haven’t been sleeping well this week, as inevitably whenever I lay down and close my eyes the uncertainty of my immediate future succeeds in finally taking over and keeping me up for a while. So weird how I can so easily push things out of my head and remain totally in control while I’m up and about, but as soon as the lights go out and my head hits the pillow I’m not so powerful anymore. No real resolution coming any time soon, so I’m working on teaching myself how to just accept that and let it go for the time being. Slowly but surely it seems to be working.

So A announced she’s going to the DR this Thursday and will be gone all weekend—a very spur-of-the-moment trip planned with her boss to go visit a friend/colleague who’s living over there. She made the decision at least in part as a result of what we’ve been going through and in an attempt for us each to have some much-needed alone/reflection time. Also, I think it’s just uncomfortable being comfortable together, when things are so in flux. I’m definitely looking forward to having the time alone (and was admittedly not really looking forward to a long weekend in the apartment together), but at the same time concerned about how I might use the time. Guess I have to get used to being alone, though. That definitely seems to be the way things are heading. I stay up trying to work it out in my head, and I just can’t see it working out any other way.

Got a taste of my own medicine last night when A gave me an article from Oprah’s magazine to read. You see, back around the holidays I used (quite slickly, I might add) one of A’s issues of O “against” her when I quoted from one of the articles (read while sitting on the throne, since there’s no longer any room for my own magazines in the bathroom, which has been taken over by O and Cooking Light and the like) in an effort to illustrate my feelings on some subject or another. I believe my words were, “Let me explain it in terms you’ll understand,” at which point I retrieved her copy of O from the bathroom and read passages that helped illuminate my position. The exercise was so successful, in fact, that I declared I would be reviewing the magazine (which I’ve stated on numerous occasions I cannot believe she has a subscription to) on a regular basis in search of potential “ammunition,” as it were. A got a kick out of the whole thing, but I guess in the long run what it earned me is the presentation of dog-eared examples of the fact that I’m one fucked-up bastard. As if I needed Oprah to help me figure that one out!