Wednesday, May 04, 2005


I'm deathly lonesome in an unironically-detached sort of way. Montreal has a population in the millions, yet there isn't a handful of close friends left whom I can call up out of the blue. (The others unintentionally make me feel unreasonably intrusive.) Those still in town are either "temporarily away" or have gone missing altogether. Readerdroid thinks I'm coming home five days from now and has apparently moved while I was gone (why don't I have her email?!). Swiss Alps was high when I called him so I don't know whether he'd remember to call me when shit goes down (in a good way). My laptop's yet to be fixed, which means hasta la vista instant messenger.

And I'm stuck learning Spanish for a month and a half.

So if anyone out there wants to talk, I'll be holed up in my foodless apartment waiting for a sign -- any sign -- assuring me I still matter, a sign that says, "Lily. Don't worry. I'm here for you. Here's some bread."


An employee of my parents' and friend of mine recently told me to wallow in self-pity for one night and one night only, allowing myself to cry for as long as it is necessary to get M. Biologique out of my system. I didn't think I needed to cry at all, but this gathering loneliness (on top of my apparent friendship break-up with M. Biologique) has rendered me helplessly weak and frustrated, an involuntary island of dejection and despair.

I think I might go have a good cry now (it might be the agenda for the next few days).

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