Transcribed from old journal - that yellow bastard

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June 9th, 1998

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1998.0609.0000::Transcribed from old journal
I've been working on the web pages lately, sorta re-vamping the whole poetry site. I suppose my idleness has gotten the better of me--I just have to do something.

One thing I've tried to do is write--the unfortunate thing about writing is you're either on or off; you're either in the groove or not. This entry, for example, seems forced, off-kilter.

I've gone just about nowhere with yesterday's passage (which, incidentally, I wrote on Thursday). Ms. Kjos suggested the possibility that I write vignettes, moments. I had considered that for a while, but I have a burning need to finish . . . something . . . a story or something at least greater than that small collection of words.

Climbing is going well--I'm starting to really feel comfortable around everyone there. Unfortunately, I think I'm overdoing it. I probably have tendonitis already. My fingers are aching like never before. I don't suppose computer professional/rock climber is a great combination for the hands . . .

What's the meanest you can be to the one you claim to love, and still smile to your new-found friends?

She talked to me today. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Stacey told me this weekend, "She really treats you like shit," which, I suppose is an accurate assesment of the situation. Of course, Stacey has more than a one-sided view of the whole mess.

She tells me, however, that she treats me no different from everyone else in her life. So I guess the proper way of putting would be, "She really treats everyone like shit."

Or maybe I'm just bitter.

I guess I always knew that I would lose her, and lose her badly . . . but what we had was so very special. I didn't think that things would go to that fucking asshole, and I would be left holding the shit end of the stick.

I still love her.

And that's probably the saddest part of this whole thing.

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