God, I miss my love Brian. I wonder how he is doing and where he's working and if he's happy. I wonder if I will ever find anyone who will tell me the truth of things the way he did, if any man will ever tell me the truth of what he really feels the way Brian did, even all the nasty evil stuff that I knew he never wanted me to know. He must have had a Sagitarius rising or moon to go along with his Virgo perfection. Only Brian made me believe that I felt inside intuitively was right. He confirmed all my intuitions and gave truth to what I thought were just my own delusions. But then he was quite exceptional that way. Never afraid to tell me what he really felt, even though in telling there might be pain, for either himself or me or the both of us.

I know that where ever he is and who he's with, he's happy in his own way. He's very practical in that respect, able to tuck away the past in some forgotten corner of his mind, to be looked at only in unguarded quiet times.

I told him we would be happy together one day in another life and he was so sweet when he said, when will that be?

We were so different and there were so many circumstances keeping us apart. And he was such a romantic, too romantic for us to ever be friends afterwards, because being friends with me he said, was impossible. It was togetherness or nothing at all. I think now we both couldn't let go of the dream and so we just abandoned it, because it was easier that way. And we moved on.

But he still haunts my dreams sometimes although I too have tucked him away in some forgotten corner of my mind, only to be looked at in unguarded moments like now.

When I wonder how he is and if he's happier without me and does he miss just a little bit the way I miss him.

And I still wonder every day since our last conversation, whether I find another love who tells me that what I feel is real, because he feels it too, who will tell me the truth of his feelings and not hide away in the name of protection and fear of having his heart ripped out.

So my crush is finally over and I'm happy about it. The cutie hottie guy who I was having a crush on is turning out to be a nice and supportive friend, too much of a friend for me to really have a crush on I guess, so the crush disappeared. But it's great because now I have this like super nice really cute guy as a friend and what girl wouldn't want that.

This guy, this cute guy is so supportive of me. He gave my screenplay a great review and his comments were very insightful. I think he kind of likes me because he introduced me to his friends as this "disciplined screenwriter with a million ideas" which I'm so not, but it was sweet of him anyway. I think this means he admires me, but who knows. Still, it was a nice way to introduce me, I mean he could have said worse things.

He's just such a nice guy and so cute as heck to boot and nice cute guys for friends are hard to find. He'll make a great boyfriend for some lucky girl some day, just not me. But that's okay, because he's a friend. And you want your friends to be happy and you want them to have everything they've ever wanted.

So my search for love and companionship continues.

I wish I could be like other people, the rest of the world. I wish I could go through life and party every night and go to work during the day and not worry about contributing to the world, not worry about making a difference, not worry about lifting the consciousness of the world and trying to make the world just a little bit of a better place.

Instead, I'm like such a messed up freak who feels like I was born to make a difference in this world, who worries whether I'm leading a mediocre life, an ordinary life, who worries that I'm leading a life without purpose and direction and that all I'm doing is taking up space on this planet and pissing it away by drinking and partying, and making meaningless conversation with people, some of whom I wish to marry and breed kids with and start a family and live to a ripe old age, and then one day lie on my death bed and realize I haven't done anything worthwhile with my life.

No, I'm the freak who wants to make a difference, who feels so different from the rest of the world and who cries at night at the unfairness of being born different and not feeling like everybody else. I'm tired of being different. I want to be ordinary and just party and drink myself to death. I want to go to parties and not think it's like the biggest waste of time. I want to have a good time and not feel guilty that I'm not at home writing or doing my art, that I'm not fulfilling the purpose of my life, that I'm living a fucking life of mediocrity and not caring.

But I do care and I do feel guilty and I feel torn, because it is nice to be like everybody else. But somehow I just can't and I feel cursed, so cursed, like why was I drafted, why was I picked, why was I made different and why in hell do I suffer so much when I'm not writing and doing my art.

If this is a test on how to lead a balanced life of art and the rest of my life, then I'm failing this very badly. All I want to do is to curl up in a ball and cry and cry and cry, cry till I can't cry anymore, knowing full welll that all my tears will not make a difference to my life, not make it any easier, except to dispel the incredible sadness that I feel.

I'm so tired of being different. It's such a lonely state to be. I wish I could find someone else who felt as dedicated to their art as I was. Who understood the need I have to be alone and create my art, who understood the need I have to just be by myself so I can wind down and recharge all my creative juices again.

I know I don't know what I want. Part of me wants to live an ordinary and meet some guy and fall in love and marry and have a kid. But the other part, the bigger part does not want any part of that mediocrity and would rather live alone so I can devote my life to my art, to my life purpose, to my destiny. And I feel so torn in two, because god, it would be so nice to come home to someone and just lay in their arms and know that I am sharing my life with a man that I love. But I will not do that and sacrifice my art.

I know there's a middle ground somewhere. I wish I could find it. But I haven't been able to so far. And while part of me fears that I'll end up a lonely white haired old witch living alone, the other part of me fears a worse future where I do not write, where I do not create art. And right now, both futures look bleak, very bleak and so I cry and I rail, and I wish I had my own wailing wall so I can just wail away at God for giving me the writing bug, the creative life bug. And yet the other part of me wants to fall down to my knees and pray in gratitude to God for giving me the urge to write, the urge to be creative, the urge to live an extraordinary life. I just wish God would also have given me an instruction manual on how to reconcile the two great wants of my life.

Not sure what to write today. All these terrorists warnings have spooked me and I feel like I'm in 9/11 mode again. Every day the warnings come. Is this what it's like to live in Israel? Does this mean the suicide bombers now control the world? It's a strange world we live in and I think it's only going to get stranger as the year goes on.

I couldn't write so I watched Heartburn on TV. What a funny movie! And Jack Nicholson, oh my god, he kept reminding me of old boyfriend Paul. Is that why Jack is such a popular actor? Because there's something about him that's just so darn cute! I find it horrifyingly funny that I dated a Jack Nicholson look alike and Paul had all of Jack's movies too. Jack was Paul's favorite actor. And I know I saw this movie before but I forgot that Jack Nicholson played Carl Bernstein of the Woodward/Bernstein Watergate fame. How funny!

I've gotten more reviews on my screenplay and for the first time in my life ever, the critiques aren't freaking me out, like a review of my work usually does. This is such a breakthrough for me. Usually, I attach so much meaning to having my work reviewed. Like oh my god, they're killing me and my baby and it's murder, cruel murder. But now it's like I'm happy to get reviewed because it tells me what I need to do to improve on my story. It's like free editing. To have your work edited costs like $75 and up an hour and I'm getting my editing for free and by five different editors, with different points of views, so if somebody missed something, another person will point it out. And what's interesting is if some of them like the same scenes, it then tells me that the scene works and I don't have to worry about editing it.

I love this review thing, it's so cool. Does this mean I am evolving as a writer, or am I just like too cheap to pay for editing? It's such a change of heart for me.

And I feel so much joy lately. I think it's due to my wingie thingies. The wing chakras open you up to joy and it's working because I experience waves of joy all the time and right now, I have nothing in my life to be particularly happy about. But like who cares, because I've got this joy thing going and I hope these feeling never go away. It's like being high on a drug all the time except I'm not depressed because I'm slowly destroying my health. Okay, maybe I'm slowly destroying my mind, but I don't care because I'm happy, so very, very happy.

It's like that weird movie I saw as a kid once on TV called "What's So Bad About Feelig Good?" I mean, what is so bad about feeling good all the time, it's way better than being on prozac or paxil or other prozac derivatives for the rest of your life. It's natural and it's fun and it's like such a trip, a big old trip that you hope never ever ends.