And then there are the Cheysuli. He got me started on those, and I hate to say it, but I find myself identifying more with the villains than with the hero I'm supposed to be cheering for. Not that I want the hero to LOOSE, mind you... I just see traces of my own desires and reasonings and so on in the very characters I am supposed to be booing and hissing. And oddly enough this makes me just a little bit... smug? Proud? Certainly amused.

If you know me at all, you know I enjoy laying claim to beauty and pleasure in whatever form it happens to have taken at the moment. Currently, the form I find it in is that of a young boy named Torian who has captivated me just as surely as I have captivated him. We have a complicated and intricate exchange, he and I - first one of us missteps, then the other - but I am used to turning such missteps on either side into advantages for me, and he... gods, he is so sweet and innocent still, it tempts me more than would a muddy old river or a reclining buddah... sorry, brief "One Night In Bangkok" flashback there. Gotta love eighties music. Or hate it. Or sometimes both. But it certainly left its mark, yes yes yes.

I'm working on a stamp. It's not done yet. I've gone through four different versions and don't like any of them... not enough of me in it. *shrugs* Such a small workingspace for such a large concept. Yes, that's a fat joke, I can get away with it. Anyone else tries, and I'll kill them. Can you tell I'm pregnant? *sigh*

I go back in to see the doctor tomorrow... err, later this morning, now. 10:50 am, I go in, and I sign the pain contract, and I try to explain to him that I have a shitty memory and that Deb has a lot of comittments and that I don't really have reliable transportation or enough money to pay for specialty treatment. *arghs* Again.

Unlike most entries, this one is surprisingly coherant so far, at least if you know me well enough to get a few of the almost-inside almost-jokes. I blame this on the fact that I am undeniably sober and hurting JUST enough to be wide awake, without hurting enough yet to interfere with my ability to function, or at least to type. It's a halfway decent state to be in, all things considered, and I would like to stay here, except OW. The pain keeps getting worse, you see, and I'm already nausiated enough that I don't particularly WANT to swallow more pills that only make the quease worse.

I've been playing OHP-tag, trying to get them to actually give me proof of insurance so I can finally schedule/attend my medical appointments. I have something that MIGHT pass as such, but... yeah. It'll be a bit iffy. So I'm holding on and hoping for the best, because dammit, there are things I need to get taken care of. I want to be, if not healthy, at least tolerably well and somewhat-drugged on, and through, the 25th. I want to be happy when I go see Caleb... anything less isn't fair to either of us.

Current plans include taking photos of me posing in every room of his new apartment, so that when I come back, he can get them developed and post them on the walls in the appropriate rooms, thus feeling a bit less lonely. *grinbounce*

I'm getting more and more stressed out. In a week or less now, Robert will be driving a U-Haul full of Caleb's stuff down to California, leaving only the sketchiest of stuffs here. No more TV. No more futon frame and futon mattress. Half the furniture gone. Most of his clothing. The bookcase. His books. And once the last traces of Caleb are expunged from the apartment, you can BET they'll be chomping at the bit to expunge me. I figure I'll have through June, if I'm lucky... if by the end of June I am not working well enough to support myself in a job that I can't bear to leave, I am betting that's it.

So I've got through June to figure out what to do. I'll need to find someplace to stay. I'm praying that it's not going to end with me going to the coast, to live with my parents... if THAT happens I'll be online MAYBE an hour or two each week, no messenger, just enough time to do a brief diary update. Certainly no phone calls with friends; or rather, if friends DO call, I'll have no privacy. I'll be expected to go to church. Expected to be good and sweet and nice and polite, never complaining, always hiding every trace of who I am in favor of the good-Christian-girl mask they demand.

And it means that I will have to deal with my mother. Dealing with her... NOT good for a Jax's sense of self-worth. Not at all.

I think I need to draw this entry to a close, it's gotten rather long. However, it's a good change of pace. Something serious-ish, but not all drugged and spacey, not all ramblish. I at least (I think) managed to keep each paragraph reasonably coherant within itself... really... *wry grin*

...yeah. Bed. Or something.