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11-11-01 - 10:50 p.m. I'm home, had a wonderful time, and this is my 200th entry. I'm really not in the mood to do a big celebration of my prolificness (is that a word?) so I'll save that and turn my two-hundredth entry spectacular into my two-hundred-and-first entry spectacular. Tomorrow or something. Kellie ended up coming with me, we checked into a huge luxurious suite in Las Vegas, ordered expensive room service, and mostly hung out in the room on Friday. Saturday turned out to be an extremely busy day. Massages, waxes, hair, makeup, baths, buffs, pedicures, flimsy little sandals. Total spa experience. Then we embarked upon a self-guided tour of the strip. At night we spent some time in a karaoke bar and I managed to sneak onto the gambling floor at Caesar's Palace. Nobody even asked for my ID. A man who looked to be somewhere in his 40s bought me a drink (a Mai Tai), which, after telling him I had to get back to my hotel, where Kellie had returned alone, I downed and rushed out and back down the strip to Bellagio... I can't do this. I can't talk about my vacation when I'm in a bad mood. My vacation was pure and good and exactly what I needed, however extremely short it may have been, and I don't want to taint it with the negativity in my mind right this very second. I'm down to two roommates again. Rob decided to choose today as National I'm Gonna Be An Asshole Day, got under my skin, and even after I begged him to leave me alone, he continued to tell me just how much he likes this new girl he's seeing. He said that he was cool with me seeing "Tree Boy" (Leif) now that he has "Scarlett." Yes, another pseudonym. Before Scarlett was Estella, whose name I stole from Great Expectations. Scarlett should be easy enough for you all to recognize. Anyway, after this, we argued. Of course. I tried (seriously) to remain as calm and levelheaded as possible, but eventually I just had to shout, "GET OUT!" at him. He didn't understand me at first, so I said, rather quietly, "Get out of my apartment. I don't want you living here anymore." He asked me why, so I told him plainly what I will now tell you: I can't bear the sight of him. Not now. Not yet. Not for a while, methinks. Seeing him confuses and frustates me and makes me think the kind of thoughts I don't want to think. I love him and he loves me, but we're not together because I told him it's exhausting dating him, that I can't keep letting my guard down only to have him break my heart. That I can't keep breaking his heart because it makes me feel so goddam guilty that I end up cutting. He started to apologize but I didn't let him. He'll move back in with Chad, far away from where I live, and I won't have to see him for a little while. Maybe this is what we both need. Being together(ish) for five years hasn't given either of us the chance to really play the field. All my other relationships were based on sex. And I'm tired of being a whore. So it's over. He's gone. If this is what's best for me, why do I feel like I've just lost a limb? A quick note to any people who feel it is their duty to ever-so-subtlely-remind me that I'm not their opinion of a good person: I don't need your help feeling badly about myself. What is it about Sundays with me?! Every Sunday I seem to feel down. Then on Monday I feel a bit better until I have an amazing Saturday, only to wake up once again to shit. It's a vicious cycle and I hate it.
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