The time has come and gone...and I find myself saying goodbye to moments upon moments, to things as they were and even things as they are. I do remember saying that "this will come to an end - everything does". This is true of her. I'm not feeling that queasy feeling in my stomach when I see her. I can fight that pull to make a connection. I don't often wonder what she thinks about from day to day. I rarely get that strange sensation that she's thinking about me.

So what's next? When does the rest of my life start?

Where will that magic pop up next?

And the end of this story is here, or past...I just don't see a compromise or hope of spring breaking through this ice. I don't know. Maybe it's best to not say anything and keep working, working at something, working at anything to keep myself from noticing the hurt still pulsing inside. I'm a writer, though, so....

Here's one she will never read:

I've discovered the end of a rainbow,
But it wasn't what I expected.
Not in the least.
My muse has died,
Faded to dust,
And that little voice echoes to me
"Be brave,
And be strong,
And run, run, run!"

She lives.
She runs through my blood.
Makes the color in my eyes deeper,
And falls to a whisper
When I'm about to sleep.

I can't understand any of it,
Only feel,
For the time I spent in her presence
Felt infinite,
And so it goes on
In my heart,
In my breath,
In every syllable of expression.

She's gone,
Faded to dust,
And I keep hearing
"Run, run, run!"

In the midst of all this action, all this life being refined and purified, I still think about her despite the knowledge that I haven't had an impact on her life. I keep reassessing what it is that I take away from this, and all previous experiences, and sitting here in this cold apartment with a warm cat in my lap, and I've come upon a quiet little thought. Love is too valuable and precious to be discarded. If she didn't want it...if no one before her wanted it...the important thing I have to understand is that I felt it, and still do. It's my own private thing. It doesn't have anything to do with rejection or a missed opportunity. Love has nothing to do with regret.

So I move on.

I go from here with wonder and curiosity, some of my innocence still intact, and a heart that will continue to love far too much for people to understand. I begin life here as I write this, and begin life here again knowing I will make more mistakes for lack of compromise. I begin life here yet again thinking of those I've left behind but taken a piece of with me.

And life begins here, with me dreaming of that magical possibility of someone...not just anyone...the very next someone...coming along to inspire me...and rescue me from all of those yesterdays. The quiet little flame of love still burns inside.

Regardless of what anyone does, even those who reject me so completely and take everything that has happened before away, I have that little flame to go on...and with that, life begins here.

And there it went. It's weird how a paradigm can shift as quickly as a carnival ride. I was waiting for an ending, or a change, or a discovery, and what I ended up discovering upon opening that room of friendship when I heard the door unlock was...well...I still have to figure out what it is. I still have to figure out who she is to me now, but there's one major change:

I'm not in love with the girl any more.

I'm in love with the idea that once was, the stolen hug on a Halloween, the connection between two people who loved to laugh and talk well about each other when the other one was absent. I'm in love with the girl who had strong feelings for me and our familiarity, not that this in any way defined a committed relationship. Did I ever believe we had a chance for a relationship? I don't know that I did. But what I do know is that we had something.

But I didn't see what was just under the surface, possibly because I didn't want to get hurt, and I knew she would eventually hurt me. I just knew that she would. What I understand now is that I offer little more than entertainment and company to her. I don't bring any truth to her life, and who would want to spend any time or effort on that? Surely not her.

In the end of this short story, I had to let go of my belief in everything that had happened before. I have to redefine what is, and accept the fact that no, it's not my time yet. I have to be alone a little bit longer. The unfortunate reality is that the things that don't engage my heart will not involve my mind and vice versa, and I need to be inspired, especially in a world where I find rejection and a fight everywhere I turn. The holiday season is upon us and at this very moment, I want to be alone. I want to recover from this incredible, short-lived inspiration and come back at the world better than ever. It's time to make a change. It's time to change the world.

I just have to do it without her. Do you believe in a point of no return?

There will come a day.

As I walked through the theater after the last actor left tonight, the moment struck me, as true as it was simple. I will someday walk out of that theater for the last time. I will someday walk away from the theater company I helped build. I will someday not see all of the people in my life any more. Have I contributed? Have I done anything to color these memories, anything to be remembered by?

And what will happen tomorrow? What's next? How did I get here?

Of course, I'm thinking about tomorrow. I don't want that burning feeling in my gut or the lump in my throat. Part of me is anxious to get things started in a new direction, and part of me is nervous about the vulnerable place I could end up in. She will be there, and possibly my whole perception of the end just doesn't exist in her story, but then again...well, no, I do feel I've lost her and everything connected to her. I can't see her in the crowd any more, though I know the crowd is looking at her. I'll find a way. I have to.

Yes, tomorrows are beginnings, and every chapter tells a new story. Somehow, I'm trusting that all this happens for a reason, and the truth stretches from the horizon so that we can always look back and see how it adds up. If I can remember to breathe when I wake up in only a few hours and keep that going without distraction, I think I'll be okay.

The brain and the heart - such a dysfunctional relationship. Would it not be for their dependance on each other, they would have gotten a divorce a long time ago.

Up late, but doing okay...still determined to live my life well away from work, even with those ugly theater politics getting uglier and darker with each day. The poison there is spreading, but true to my entry last night...

...I'm still working hard. I'm not going to eat so much I get fat and lazy. I'm not going to slow down for anyone. I'm not going to spend a single minute feeling sorry for myself and being inactive. I have to be working on something every minute of every day, at least until this heartbreak subsides. Yes, even at work, I have to raise the difficulty factor and find things I can do at my desk. There will be no more roaming around, no joking around with the people on the East side. All there will be is working and waiting until the next opportunity presents itself. Location #1, my desk. Location #2, my boss's office. Location #3, the bathroom. Anywhere else on my floor is misplaced effort.

I have to focus on the work, because it's what got me through difficult times before. I have to work hard because I'm directing four plays about failing relationships, and this could drive me to...well, self-destruction.

One interesting thing to note from past experience: Whenever I've failed at something, I always say, "I'm not doing enough." This time, although I suddenly find moments of sheer exhaustion, I'm really determined to push myself into the red, though not so far I start getting sick. Exhaustion is okay. Sick isn't. Lack of sleep and food is okay, perpetual migraines isn't. This is an every day thing, including weekends.

If I have to deal with a sense of loss and jealousy (thanks, Marianna, for THAT one), then I have to fill in those cracks, those flaws with task-oriented focus. I'm priming up the machne and getting myself fitted for blinders. I am not leaving ground zero for anything from here on.

And tonight, going to sleep so late will more than likely prevent any more dreams about her. I've got so many things to do tomorrow.

Well...I never thought I'd get here. Eager to see yet a new chapter start in my life, it was all suddenly taken away from me in the midst of an early week triumph and some ugly theater politics.

I thought something great was about to happen. I thought she was really interested. And then she took it all away. To drive the point home, she shut down, only to open up to others. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get rid of this hurt. See, I hate the fact that I let myself get here. I hate the fact that I believed in something, a connection, a feeling, something more refined and true than anything I've ever known. But what was I thinking? Was it at all possible that I would find this thing at work?

Was it at all possible that for the first time in over a decade, I would allow myself to not be alone?

I got to a familiar place today, one that had damaged me in the past and made me lose hope. My breath was shallow, that lump in my throat grew, and I had to walk away defeated and alone. Did she give me a single thought after I walked away? My instincts tell me no. Will she give me a single thought come Monday, come December, come 2004? A single thought, yes: "Stay away from him."

So why, especially quite a few beers late into the evening (with Cathy, and then alone), have I not shed a tear, despite how truly sad I am about this? Oh, God, this was important to me. This was really important. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I promised myself that as soon as I felt I needed to, I'd have to work a little harder. I'd have to pack my time with more stuff. I might call a few extra rehearsals, skip a few meals, hit the gym more, maybe sleep less (once again, to avoid dreaming). So that's what I'm going to do: Indulge myself in sweat and blood.

Because, after all, I was fine before I met her. I was happy and successful, building a busy, creative life. All I gave her, I did so selflessly, but I didn't give her anything I couldn't live without. So how am I worse off now than before? I'm better, as a matter of fact, and although I do have to watch her every day at work mingle with others, making friends who will quickly replace my spot in her life and in her heart, I had her in my life for a short time and was able to tell her that I loved her. I was able to, until she completely lost interest, find inspiration, creativity, such full life, and laughter with her.

Now it's all gone. It's going to suck for a while, and then it won't, but I will miss her just the same. My memories of her, the parts of my world that she filled with color, are mine and mine alone. Yes, dear reader, after 18 years of keeping this journal through all stages of evolution, from the angry written page to this publicly viewed online blog, I am going to be alone for a while longer.

And that might not be a bad thing.

It is so hard to keep up with all of the details. One thing that I pursue continues pushing further and further ahead, out of my reach, and while I keep running because I'm being pursued by a larger crowd of...well, I keep running because that's my cruising speed...I feel myself start to veer off to one side, towards a new influence, a new inspiration.

I have always said that people will always fight for their right to not get involved rather than using that energy to interact, and sometimes my need for them, my need for answers, has driven me into that beautiful, smooth and wonderfully expressive brick wall. Oh, welcoming arms, why hast thou forsaken me?

Okay, it's not about them. It's not about whom connect with or disconnect from. It's about what I'm doing with what I have, staying involved in my own life. All this squirming...with the reluctant ones...who delicately set me on a shelf to collect dust with the rest of the seasonal items...it's all for naught.

I'm happy. Real happy. Can I count that blessing first?

Okay, this is a spooky time for me. Really spooky, and I have to stay focused on the things ahead of me rather than the things around me. Old feelings, somewhat recognized, are resurfacing, and I find myself doing everything I can to keep this thing from happening. I can feel it in my gut, I can feel it in my head, I can feel it in my heart, and I know...well, this is going to sound really weird...but I know it in my bones each and every time she thinks about me. Maybe that's just wishful thinking, but she's doing something to me, and I am feeling both wonderful and really uneasy about it.

What am I talking about? This isn't going to happen. I need to focus on the thing in front of me, the thing above me and above all, keep myself happy. I've got way too much at stake here.

Oh. Was I typing out loud? Ummm forget everything you just read. I'm just...yes, I'm rambling. I can't feel what I'm feeling right now. I'm gonna put all that...there...right next to my Pancreas. No, too tight. How about...in one of my lungs? I can smell her there anyway. Box, box, where is there a box big enough?

I hate these evolutionary spurts - everything in me stretches thin to make room. Too many feelings, not enough words. Sense not make I am.

A whole month has slipped by! How do I let these things happen? So much has happened, both on the superficial "got my fingers on all the notes at once" level and the dangerous subterranean "my gut is twisting like a rubber band" level. I go back in my journal and in my blog and see the spectre of anxiety growing, but actually, for the past month, I pushed ahead without questioning anything and I now wonder "How did I get through all that?" Wow. Being thirty-something...okay, more than just thirty-something. Being successfully thirty-something definitely has its perks. Pride is a muted thing, though still intact. Aggressiveness sharpens its focus. Being reactive in my 20s has given way to reading situations better and knowing - or...still learning - where to place value in things. But still, how did I do everything I needed to do, on all levels straight to the bone?

I'm happy to say that being honest and straightforward is one key. Being bold and outspoken only when necessary is another. Flapping my wings and never looking straight down at the ground or even at the Sun is yet another. Breathing is that one last little detail. Where do I go from here?

To the bathroom. I think, maybe, keeping it simple is best.

There are so many strangers in my past. I find myself revisiting the question "Who are you?" when I experience change in my friends, and then, given a second thought, I suddenly realize I never knew them at all. How close can you get to someone? How much should you reveal? If you don't like something they do, do you bury it down inside and secretly resent them, or do you face rejection and silence when you do speak your mind? If it's a repeating lose/lose situation, is it a friendship?

I tell you, for years I have had the gunsight of blame on me. I haven't heard an apology from anyone else in a very, very long time, and mathematically, that says that I'm usually wrong. That can't be true! Is the opposite so far from a possibility? Am I the only one who does things wrong? Look, if this was a pattern that recurred in all of my friendships, then I seriously have to look at it. It doesn't, though, and it only seems to happen when I mistakenly believe that someone wants to be my friend, but in reality they're not really interested in anything but an acquaintance. Whether it's twelve months or twelve years, I have to understand that sometimes people just aren't interested in my definition of friendship. They just want someone to talk to every now and then.

Friday morning...hoping for beginnings, a change in pace, a...well, something new. What? I'm crazy! I've got so much going on, blah, blah, blah, and we've heard all this before. Yesterday I was telling a friend about all my anxieties, and then turned around and took a big Alien-sized bite out of her forehead (via email, of course). What does any of this add up to? It's frustrating...the only things that reward me are family and theater, so I try to concentrate on those things. They're so postiive and my creativity is at an all-time high...but my "skinnyman" tries to bring me down with guilt and rejection, and I, unfortunately, give audience to a lot of the negativity that attracts to me. I try to say "no more", but yes, I am reactive and yes, I do hurt...so....

So what it should mean to me and what it does mean to me are two different things entirely. I wish I could hang out with my beautiful friend at work, but there are some ugly, ugly points of light there that reflect on me. I wish I could see my friend of almost 12 years, but there always seems to be the issue of baggage-handling. I wish I had more of a Zen approach with all this, but I don't, and that is exactly where all my creativity comes from. Not optimism. Struggle. Struggle and defeat. Because victory comes slowly and with a LOT of resistance, and that is exactly how my life is mapped out. This is what I need to do and live with so I can have...what? Where is this all leading?

Friday morning...hoping for beginnings and a change in pace. Hope springs eternal, I guess, and life goes on. When will I be able to recognize the next chapter?

It's Monday morning at the paycheck dance, and man, do I need to take a breath! Why I'm so hungry for all this extra stuff I'm doing right now is totally beyond me. Do I not value any kind of stability or rest? My eyes are doing this funky, off-focus thing, and I can't seem to slow down at an appropriate time; I always find myself nodding off when I'm alone and intend on doing more with my time, but that couch...that bed...that floor...it seems my whole apartment except for my computer chair is one big off button. Am I doing too much? I'm...directing four plays...writing a song for another...acting in another...and just accepted directing a film. What am I running away from? The mystery girl of my past hasn't written to me since July. The former pen pal is too busy to make me feel guilty for being poor and too busy myself. The new addiction is...let's just say she's unpredictable but she's here at work, so...so theater isn't really an escape from her.

What's going on? It's starting to feel like I'm on one of those little playground merry-go-rounds that the biggest kid powers around until everyone pukes. It's a good thing there was always sand available.

I'm writing poetry, writing plays, writing music...but what cracks am I trying to fill? Oh, God, please don't let me go crazy like so many creative people I've come to know and love.

This is all going somewhere, right?

Thursday morning. Weather report: my clouds are not dark, but they do block the sun, and there's a bit of a chilly wind coming from the northeast. Storms sit on the coast, waiting, watching for an opportunity when the high pressure either pulls them in or drops. Okay, so what's really going on?

Work and relationships: Have you ever noticed how people sometimes say one thing and act a completely different way? That particular pattern seems to be popping up like weeds around me, and I'm trying my best to distract myself, to give no value to the games that other people play. How do I maintain the friendship - the...whatever...masquerading as a friendship like a small, bearded man wearing a dress - and not compromise myself? After dealing with one person dropping the guilt trip on me for not being available to the friendship, yet never putting any value in my time when I can find her...after dealing with another one who can't balance work and friendship, and when I leave her alone to focus on work she thinks I'm avoiding her, but when she's caught up in work she completely forgets about me...after dealing with actors who tell me the project we're working on is the most important thing they have now, yet are having difficulty listening, preparing, and showing up...I just don't know where to stand, and it makes me angry. The whole thing makes me angry.

Okay, to redirect the moment. I get angry because I need, need, need to try for something better: Better, more functional friendships. A job where the last thing on my mind in the morning is Blogging and coffee.

John, the guy who brings me my mail every morning, just brought the answer. His sermon this morning - "Pause for the Cause" - preached one word: Patience.

I have to remember, though I forget sometimes, to breathe. Whatever is going on with these friends, these familiar faces whose actions just aren't translating to me right now, I have to let them figure it out. I've totally taken my own breathing for granted, and I can pull that bubble a little closer.

And so my work day begins with this blog jam.

T.S. Eliot once said, ""What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."

So here I am, beginning at the end, or ending at the beginning, in reality writing from somewhere in the middle, with 18 years of journal writing behind me and a life that's beginning to look like a Where's Waldo mural. Here I am at work. Here I am in Los Angeles. Here I am torn between a bill-paying job that satisfies me like a single M&M and a theater company that takes huge bites out of me like bat boy at Thanksgiving. To hyphenate me, I would appear in your mind as a genetic gumbo, starting with ground zero: Single/Male/35/Senior Secretary/Writer/Director/Actor/Manager of a theater company/Musician/wreck in my most private moments.

That's the foreword to this book. I toss a definition out into the ether, with full knowledge that there's more to come. What particular dilemma am I working on today? Stay tuned...I think my boss is looking.