Things are pretty much trucking along, as they always do. I feel a bit lame, but I am enjoying the fact that I've organized my schedule to have ridiculous amounts of leisure time. There is a crunch this week but next week it unloads, and I'm back to leisure city. I've been away nearly every weekend since I got back from my holiday.

Last weekend was spent in Whistler with the Gaff. Things are still weird, and I now know for certain that he is a complete mess, that he's got feelings for me that he's in total denial about because he doesn't want to be involved with anyone, so he suppresses them all and maintains a friendship with me because he can't stand to lose me.

He is a complete mess, yes, and meanwhile, I get less and less messy every day. I have my moments certainly, like when I drove up to Whistler I stewed the whole way so that when I arrived I was angry and ready for a fight. But other than that, I've decided to be nothing but sweetness and light, with the odd reminder that there are certain things he doesn't need to say to me.

He started telling me something that was stupid and ridiculous and really information that I didn't want, and I just said, "shut up. respect please." That seemed to work, so that's my new boundary phrase.

I'm off to the Sunshine Coast this weekend to visit me bANANA, for martini nights and meat draws. Apparently on the Sunshine Coast, one can win meat. I would love to win some meat.

I haven't heard from the Captain in over a week. That's not a surprise. He's done well to forget about me quickly. I'm over it. The biggest loss is my place to stay in New York.

I had my first session with an art therapist yesterday. She's nothing like I thought! I thought she would be old and grey haired and dressed in robe like things, like a hippy, all wearing purple etc.

Instead I was greeted with a young, mid 30s woman with dark hair pulled into a pony tail wearing a black stripey sweater and dark jeans. She's just had a baby, she's South African. Big light light blue-green eyes. She's very sweet, and she's extremely smart. She's also expensive, even though she's slid her scale down to nothing for me, comparatively. $60 an hour. Psychologists can charge $120 an hour, maybe more. So I guess I've got a deal. I'll keep going as long as I can.

I have to go to work now. Oh look, I procrastinated homework again. Clever me.

I don't need to convince you.
I am worthy of laurels
and devotion.
When I walk through the door
there should be trumpets
and hands reaching to pull
me in where I belong.
A mouth that savours the form
of my name.
To tremble to press against me
for fear that I will be
too wonderful to part from
ever again.
There should be desire
to lift me up from the dirty ground
and keep me safe in chariots
where all can see the glory
that is me, that is you.

Convince you?
Convince me.