Dear Diary,

Sometimes, I get to feeling quite hopeless and jaded. I know I can be judgmental... but it just happens. I am human.

Yesterday I was feeling pretty good about several of the things I had accomplished. For one, the weekend turned out to be more profitable than I had hoped- so I can pay my rent now, and I've also arranged to send payments to the dentist, my therapist, and some other people I owe money to. I'm not paying anyone off completely... the weekend wasn't THAT good... but I do feel, at least, that I am making some kind of dent. I can pay my rent, my credit card and bills, so for that I'm very grateful.

Ginny was having a going-away party, because she is moving. I had to work, but she told me to come late. I assumed that nobody would be there, but the place was still packed when I arrived. And Ginny was three sheets to the wind. She came up to me, draped herself on me and said, "I love you." She looked really ridiculous. I figured it wasn't even worth talking to her, because I hate talking to drunk people, it feels like a waste of my time. I talked to some other people I knew; Don, my ex "boyfriend" of sorts, whom I only dated for three months, and we never had sex (good thing because it turns out he is a complete and utter slut- everytime I turned around, he was tongue-kissing somebody else in the room- p.s.... he's also engaged to Crystal now). Ginny's father, who is old as dirt and almost like talking to a drunk person, because he has alzeimer's and doesn't remember much of anything at all. But at least he's sweet, and you can just make up a story as you go along.

LilyB was there too, and I haven't seen her in months and months. She broke up with her boyfriend again, so once again she is single, which I think is for the best. She was slightly tipsy as well, but not as bad as Ginny. At one point I looked over and Ginny was sitting on the floor, legs splayed like a clown, while some guy was rubbing her head, making her hair all stand up. She looked ridiculous. Then again I looked over and saw her sitting on Don's lap, on the floor, and I don't know if they were just hugging and nuzzling or kissing as well. Next time I looked over, it seemed Ginny was attempting to stand, with the help of a couple of other people, but she kept hunching over, and I thought that at any minute she might throw up all over the floor. Overall it just didn't look good, for the guest of honor, and a woman of her age to be crawling on the floor like that. They finally put her to bed, and I didn't even bother to say goodbye before I left, figuring she had passed out.

I just found myself annoyed by so many people at the party, every pretentious one of them. Marva was there- Marva who makes promises that she can't keep, sleeps with a lecherous, manipulative philanderer and thinks she's someone special to him, and as a result doesn't know anything about being a real friend to another woman. But, that is my angry judgmental side coming out now.

I am tired of the scene; of the same people spouting the same bullshit; and it seems when they drink they only get worse. I feel like everyone around me is fake, no one is talking about anything real.

Today I felt like I just wanted to talk to someone, talk about something real. But I don't even know who that would be. I used to think it was Smitten. I mean, that night we first went out, it felt like we were talking about real things. He asked me questions and I answered with real answers, even though it felt like I was super vulnerable. And I felt like he did the same to me. That's the same kind of stuff that happened with M. Maybe I am attracted to broken, wounded men because their armor has been cracked, and they can no longer keep up their facade. They have no defenses left, so they are real. They talk about real things.

I feel like I am a woman who is starving for that. I need something real.

Years ago I went to see Nick play a gig in a club. I was so miserable at that time, struggling with my eating disorder that had taken over my life. I was sitting with the sound man, Joe, and for some reason, I just said to him, "Let's have a real conversation. Let's tell each other the truth about something, something that we keep from other people." And right there I told him that I had an eating disorder. And Joe told me that he had OCD, that he had to pump the soap dispenser 4 times first thing in the morning, or else his whole day was ruined- just one thing on a whole list of nutty OCD things he had to do to get through his day.

After that, it was like I felt closer to Joe than most anybody in my life, because we told each other the truth.

I want somebody to tell the truth to- and who will tell me the truth. My soul is starving for connection. The real thing.

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