Perpetual fighting seems to be the menu for now. It's very frustrating and I can't stand it. I suggested a two week break from each other but that was rejected. So I'll do it myself. I did it with Mark. I'm doing it with Anthony that fuck.

James decided he's not coming with me to NY/NJ. Which is fine. It's just the way it happened that ticked me off. All his "let's talk about it" shit doesn't get us anywhere. And why does he continue to work at it when it's so frustrating? I'm so frustrated I can't stand it. Yes, I'm happy. But I'm upset and frustrated. And right now the frustration is winning over everything else.

At least I started that stinking paper for Short Story.

So starting NOW: let's see if I can make it until Wednesday next week. So until break is over.

A minute left and I'd still be smiling.

If you wait long enough, wishes really do come true. They come so true all doubt vanishes and you're left with nothing but that absolutely unadulterated bliss.

I never really believed that this could happen. That there really is someone out there for everyone that's a perfect fit. And maybe that's not even it. Maybe it's more I never really believed there was someone out there who was a perfect fit for me. And perfection isn't necessarily perfect, but the way you work towards it in every moment because whatever you have is too wonderful to ever let go.

For the first time in my life, I really trust something. I trust it more than anything. I would give up everything for it. Everything. I can turn off the words because they're too selfish for this. I can lower the volume on the voices because they're too loud for this and I can't stand it when I'm the cause of greatest horror or absolute grief in this case. Because they circle around and hit me with more guilt than ever so I STOP. I STOP.

Turn in a new direction and it's beautiful. Whatever this is, it's beautiful. Like the perfect bond. That indestructable bond. That's beautiful. And you know I live for beauty. You know I live for those brief instances of beauty that make up for all the pain. Only this moment, this instant isn't a moment or an instant. It's always. And I can hardly contain it. I don't know what to do with it.

Smile and nod and go with it. Because I can't run away. And I don't want to anymore. I can't entice myself to run away. So I radiate and I stay. And I look in the mirror and for the first time in my life I know I'm part of something beautiful. Because it's not just that I'm making someone smile for a moment. I'm changing them. I'm making them happy, too, in the same way they're making me.

Sometimes in September before the seasons set, while they play hopscotch around the grounds meandering between summer and autumn while the leaves fall all around, life begins to take its place. This is a turning point. We'll soar or fall.

They're right that love is different every time. Somehow I never seem to get it, though. I never seem to get it.

Staring up at the ceiling and there's a red balloon above me. It reminds me of the odd one out against the white paint, its ribbon hanging down.

It's not that I gave it all up. It's more something that I lost. Something that I lost...

I never meant to lose the feeling that moves the people that never dies. I never meant to fall in love. I never meant to feel that it was all wrong or that I was losing something so precious to so many but that left me empty in spite of all of it.

When I woke up yesterday morning with the clasp of my chai broken and the little Life strewn somewhere on the floor, the first thing that flashed through my mind was "This is the last year I have to live." It's not really a good omen, the chai falling off on the first day of the New Year. I tried to pray. I tried to get back into that rhythm. I tried to hold onto it. But I couldn't. And I can't. And even though I said "I don't know" and continue to be indecisive when someone asks me "What makes you happy?" I knew the answer was "You, you, you."

It's not the last year of my life, I hope. I can't really say that it's not because who knows what the year will bring? I do know that last year was the last year that I was Jewish. And being a Jew and being Jewish are two different things for me now. I'll always be a Jew. I can't change that. But losing Judaism means losing a lot more than that. It means losing my family. It means losing everything I was brought up to be, all the expectation. It means being the greatest disappointment and the greatest object of scorn to some of the most important people in my entire life.

Today is Rosh Hashanah and I didn't go to shul and pound on my heart or listen to the Torah being read or to the shofar blow. I walked miles out of the way and went to a Quaker meeting and I couldn't help but cry because I know I died to my father.

I know they won't put any stones on my grave because there'll be no grave. It will be as if I never existed.

So I lied when James asked me if I was ok and said "Yeah," and I lied again when he asked me if I was sure. Then I walked up to my room and held myself and cried and cried and cried because I'm going to take what makes me happy. Even if it means giving up everything else. Even if it means breaking everyone else's heart. Even if it means going in a completely new direction where there is no direction I can sense, but somehow I know is right.

They love the principle more than they love me. Which defeats the purpose of the principle itself. I'll be a locked up memory they'll pretend not to have, growing dusty on a shelf they hide in the back of their minds. For this, I will not say S'lach li, forgive me. For this, I will not pound on my heart. But I will say this:

L'shana tova, v'm'tuka.
Have a sweet and good new year.

Once upon a time a little girl made a friend. The first time it happened, the friend ran away. The second it happened, the girl couldn't stay. The third time it happened, the friend insisted on remaining there forever. On wasting his time (as she put it) investing their time.

The little girl doesn't understand.

I am happy.
I am happy.
I am happy.

I must be trapped in this.

Everywhere I look twice and blink to rid myself of visions of the dead.

This isn't healthy, this chasing of the dead, this haunting. But someone follows me when I run and when I lie about why. Maybe one day, I'll join all of them. Then, I wouldn't have to chase anymore but rest along with.

That would be nice, wouldn't it?