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3-21-04 - 11:30 a.m.

This is my last entry of amy-poetica. I wrote it 3-21-04 but reposted it so that certain people would notice it.

This diary is just begging to be ended or closed down. The momentum has waned and now I must stop it. I've lost gold and supergold, and without comments I have lost a bit of mojo. When times are good, I'm don't want to waste happytimes writing them down. As for negative events, I'm sick of discussing and therefore enforcing them. Because I want this diary to be more than just one big confession, I end up dragging myself through the mire and reliving it several times.

Lastly, lately poetry has been using my most creative energies, and to be honest, I'm delighted by the change.

If you're wondering where you're leaving me, let me tell you.

Cake told me she was bisexual

and had a crush on me when we first met, which confused me and filled me with lots of awkward feelings. I was infauted with her for quite a time and she seemed decidedly unqueer. I could barely think of anything else for a little while. This wasn't the first or last of Cake's big intimate talks, and I began to think maybe we'd become friends again, as if she floated into my life. She even told me she'd come to see poet's group and our visiting poet Mark Salerno! Gee was I excited! Of course, two days before she bailed on me, which broke my heart and caused a lot of tears.

Screw her.

I'm not going to care anymore and she'll never hurt me again. I'd even made her a teeny weeny goody bag of itty bitty presents, including a mini teddybear. Fuck you Cake.

Mark Salerno wore a sash and plaid, had shoulder-length gray hair and a caustic sense of New Yorkian humor. The performance was good although I drank all night. I felt like a true lush, part of the country's elite, sitting sipping wine, eating nachos, and soak in the intellectual discourse. Lately I've been very involved in poet's group, writing for perhaps ten hours or more out of every week.

Bat seems more & more of an alcoholic and my worries pile on top of one another. Yet he is also trying very hard to be supportive, loving, tolerant. We still have problems with sex off-and-on. After a big crying session on my part, he has invited me to live at his place several days each week, sort of as if I'm moving in part-time.

I've been in a biochemical funk sporadically ever since Lawrence's party, and I've had spurts of mania to deal with as well. I've been in a great fear that "the sickness" will take over, as it has in the past, and render me useless and functionless. However, I think I am more equipped to put up a better (bitter) fight. I've been thinking lots of desperate and unhappy thoughts and crying a lot, but often enough I can use my reason to defeat my urges to do something irrational and potentially dangerous.

Friends, fans, voyeurs:

It's been fun. Have a fabulous life and leave me a guestbook message if you so choose.

Au revoir.

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