hmmm. Well, in retrospect...This will probably be a stupid decision. Yesterday I was certain we were going to break up. I mean, no doubts...I was pretty intent on it, and incidentally he wanted to too, for an entirely different reason. We both came clean with what we wanted to tell one another, then we both arrived at the same conclusion: it was over. His...reason, if you want to call it that, disturbed me, however. This will come off as incredibly arrogant, but my reason for ending it was far more logical. His was stupid, IMHO. I wanted him to tell me it to my face, and to end things with me properly, without the coward's shield that is the telephone. So I wound up at his house, well into the acceptance stage. I had discussed my severence from the Devil with some close friends and had received a hearty-though-caustic round of congratulations. i.e. "You are a genius. This is the best idea you've thought up all year." Ouch. The only person who really gave me any sense of security was Rathika; she told me she wasn't going to applaud or denounce my decision (not in those words, but *shrug*), and that everything was ultimately dependent on what was going to make me happy. There's a reason she's my best friend. Anyway, I arrived at his house, kind of at a loss for words, but pretty confident of the outcome. Interestingly enough he switched it around and told me it was my decision. Ok, granted, I had started off wanting to end things myself. But when he threw me that curve ball, I thought he was saving me the trouble. I looked him in the eye, began by telling him that everything I had suffered in the past year had been on account of him, and that he suffered for no one's sake but his own. The words waiting for formation in my mouth were that I couldn't deal anymore; that we should just call it quits. But looking at him, I already felt the loss purge me of all happiness before I could even tear my gaze away. The words I had circulated over and over in my mind dissolved, and I felt that I had betrayed myself for even contemplating them. He had a slight smile on his lips; he could tell exactly what the verdict was. I took his hand and grazed a kiss across his knuckles. "I think you know," I said, "that I could never again walk the path of stability. I could never go back to that secure, sheltered lifestyle that I was leading before I met you. And you're the only one who has ever made me so miserable, or so incredibly happy. I wouldn't have it any other way." Then we kissed, and it was all very touching and magical, cue the music here. All in all, I have made a choice that defies logic and that allies itself with the hapless decisions of the heart. And I feel damn good about it.

Why are humans equipped with emotion?? I feel something akin to hatred towards him at the moment. This seething anger is vying quite intensely with my love, which I fear may be dwindling. He has hurt me on so many different levels, and he has taken so much from me. I have given everything, without any reciprocation. I wonder if he even has the slightest inkling of what he has put me through; I wonder if he cares.

Capricious me... I can't criticize any flaw in his personality; even when he is at his most annoying I will reflect back on it adoringly, with an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Even that crap I was complaining about the other day. His over-zealous confidence in his own intellect, his way of being assertive with everything, no exceptions...I love it. I love him. I wish I could escape the snares of these wily, logic-free emotions, but I don't think I'd be happy as an adroid. Today on the bus this bawdy, smug-without-good-reason girl was telling me that he only loves me because he can't get anyone else now that he's in this state. I wanted to nail her one (not because of what was said but because of how it was delivered). There was, however, a nagging uncertainty as my own doubts were solidified by her nasal voice. But what can I do? I've tried, but this whole love-him-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-him mantra repeating itself in the back of my mind refuses to be quelled. Maybe I'm just a stupid girl who likes to waft around in the clouds of delusion.

Trying to scale a mental wall... I have a shitload of work to do, all requiring some form of creativity. I remember back when I was a wide-eyed child, when my imagination was boundless. I wish I could revert back to that fervour for simply creating. I'd do anything to erradicate my sense of self-censorship/consciousness. I hate always feeling like I have to perform for an audience. I'm not a thespian. I'm an artist. My work should be an embodiment of what is inside me, free from hinderances, oblivious to the thoughts of others. But the truth is, others exist. Others judge. Even right now, someone is going to read this. My pride won't allow my work to be solely for my eyes. And thus I have to care about what critics think and say. And thus...it seems to be safer to keep things guarded, under the thrall of not being good enough. *sigh* Not in the best of spirits today...

Stalling to remain idle... I'm supposed to be sitting in French class right now. I woke up at a decent hour this morning (no class until 1:00), then lay in bed pondering life, existence, and of course, Chris. None of these in separate compartments, interestingly enough. All notions intertwined, a sluggish 10:30 a.m. whirlwind. I'm always in a state of semi-delerium when I'm struggling into consciousness. So whatever I think in those strange minutes always turns from transcendent to absurd once I'm completely up. I wasted all the time that I should have been using to making myself presentable and getting out of the house by musing over the purpose of being. The purpose of being!! I'm uneducated in that respect, and so is Chris, and yet we squander hours upon hours hypothesizing and speculating. We feel smart doing this, yes. But it has dawned upon me that whatever great theories we are coming up with have most likely already been put in text books or proven wrong altogether. Thus it is pointless. I dropped science after grade 10 and he probably never even passed it. So we have very little background in the fields we prattle on about, and any arguments we make are based on someone else's information. Hearsay, little snippets that we pick up from magazines, the Discovery Channel, and books. Second hand. There's that rather lofty saying: "Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, small minds discuss people." Perhaps we are simply trying too hard to rise above the last two categories. Perhaps pretentious minds discuss futile ideas that have already been exhausted. I'd like to tell him as much, but I always have this paranoid inkling that his esteem of me is more fragile than he lets on. Sometimes I think he deems me as an intelligent person only because I grasp what he says and thus can acknowledge his mental prowess. He has this way of plowing relentlessly through conversations via run-on sentences and circular breathing. It is a rare occasion when I can get a single word in. And if I ever do manage to slip a tentative opinion into his vast ocean of ideas, it is capsized like a skiff overcome by crashing waves before it even has a chance to float. Don't get me wrong; I love him with all my heart, and mainly for that insatiable mind of his. But the happiness I once had is now rift with feelings of inadequacy. I don't mind if the depth and span of his proverbial ocean rivals mine, I just don't want to end up being drowned by it.

And so the chronicle commences... My very first entry! Oh this is a day that will be remembered throughout the ages. A special thank you to Peng for allowing me to perpetuate my laziness by giving me her old layout. This sexily-sculpted piece of flesh is Yoshiki, genius pianist. He has the navel of a god. And what hands. *shivers* I want him to practice arpeggios on unspeakable parts of my body. Whoops. Not quite the dignified debut I had hoped for. Ah well. Tomorrow's another day.