I don't know if I ever want to fall in love again. I got news today that my boyfriend from nine years ago died in his sleep over the weekend. He was only 41 years old and so very young. God, I really loved that man. He was so sweet. He had a heart of gold and I knew he would never ever intentionally hurt me. But god, he was so damaged. So messed up in the head. So full of nightmares and demons and ghosts that even huge amounts of alcohol couldn't keep them away. I still remember how he used to wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares every night, nightmares that he refused to talk to me about.

He drank himself to death. He was already doing that nine years ago when I met him. But I was so stupid and young back then. I thought he was so much fun, so the party hardy although older frat boy. Being with him was like being back in college. That is until I woke up three months after we started going out and realized my life and apartment was a mess. We drank between us three big bottles of alcohol every week. We would start on Friday and keep going through to Saturday and Sunday night I would crawl back to my apartment completely hung over and wiped out.

My life revolved around drinking with him and having sex with him, punctuated by episodes of mushroom and acid or any other drugs that he could obtain for us. He was so much fun. He reminded me so much of college.

Until we started getting kicked out of clubs because he was too drunk. Or better yet, they wouldn't let us through the door because he was so lit up. Then came the episodes of him falling down drunk too many times on the sidewalk or me dragging him into his apartment because he'd fallen down drunk in his doorway or that one awful time the bartenders at Gordon Biersch begged me to take him home because he had fallen asleep at the bar.

He and our relationship was unraveling before my very eyes. And I was unraveling too. He tried to stop drinking sometimes, but it was so hard. By the second day, he was so damned mean to me. By day three I'd make him a drink and give it to him begging him to drink so he would stop being mean and stop yelling and cussing at me. I don't think he ever forgave me for making him drink on day 3.

I went to a meeting of Al Anon once and there I was surrounded by women or men who would hide the booze from their loved one and I wanted to get up and yell, but if they don't drink they're such jerks. What's wrong with giving them a drink and having some peace in the house and relationship. I never back to Al Anon.

I begged him once and dragged him to my therapist. He would pretend to resist me, but he would always do whatever I said. He was always good that way. My therapist told me at my next session by myself if I was prepared to go through a dry out period with him. Was I prepared for the fact that if he stopped drinking he might not love me anymore. Was I prepared to stop drinking? Was I prepared for the fact that if he did sober up, he might become a totally different person.

Her questions stung me. I realized in that session that I didn't love him enought to want him sober. I mean I loved him, but I was afraid that if he went straight he'd stop loving me. And I couldn't face that, not after what I would have had to go through to get him to that point.

And so I left him after six months and leaving him was the hardest thing. Despite all the bullshit, despite all the crap he put us through, I never lost sight of what a great guy he was underneath but I knew that if I stayed with him, he would eventually die sooner than later. He told me he never wanted to outlive his parents. He would hold me in his arms in the beginning and tell me we were twins. He told me a month after we broke up that he glad I had left him because he lived his life on the edge and I didn't. He told me I wanted a spouse and kids and he didn't want any of that. He told me sometimes he just wanted to die. He told me that he'd had a death wish for a long time. He told me that he didn't want to ever hurt me and being with him would eventually hurt me.

I guess he was right in a way and wrong. I'm hurting now because he's gone. And death is like this really messed and strange thing because I know I'll never talk to him again. I think he just gave up. I think he just got tired of living on the edge, of the nightly nightmares, of the demons and memories that haunted him, I think his spirit and soul just gave up because they were so tired.

And all I have left are my good memories of us together like when we watched Grand Canyon and he started crying. Like how much he hated that I sang Puff the Magic Dragon to him in bed but he let me do it anyway. How he loved it when I called him HR Puff N Stuff. How much fun we had on our trip to Death Valley and how he dared me take off my shirt and ride topless in the covertible, which I did because I knew he would love it. How much he really listened to me when I analyzed movies for him. How I Ioved the way he smelled and how just getting a whiff of him made me me want to jump him and start taking off my clothes. How often I just wanted to slam him up against a wall, take off his clothes and let my mouth make him feel really, really good and big smile to his beautiful face. God, and just how much fun we had just laughing and having a good time, especially in the beginning when we were so into each other and we would spend hours together just laughing and watching TV.

But maybe you only get to love like that once in your life, quickly, passionately and tragically. At least that's what I hope because I know I don't ever want to feel this kind of hurt in my life ever again.

Since I've been sick, I feel like I lost a whole day. I had no idea that today was Cinco de Mayo, until I got home in the afternoon. I've been craving nachos for days so I bought some on the way home, so now at least I feel like I've celebrated the day a little bit.

I've been lazing around all weekend, briefly leaving the house to go to see my chiro/holistic healer in Berkeley on Saturday and then to church today. I have an appointment in three weeks with my chiro/healer's partner, who specializes in japanese healing techniques. His whole approach to healing sounded interesting and since I've never tried it, I decided to try one appointment.

John, the japanese healer guy, said something interesting though. We were talking about fighting techniques, since I took a class in juijitsu, and he said the key to staying strong is to relax. This rang a bell with me. I'd heard the concept before in a G&D course and they called it being an automatic yes to life. Or, stop resisting everything in your life and just say yes.

I know that most of the time, I'm an automatic NO to life. I'm spontaneous if I'm in a good mood and will do just about anything, but that's rare for me. But John was demonstrating to me if you stay relaxed and not fight, the opponent can't throw you off balance. When you resist, all your energy goes into resisting and you're weaked somehow. But if you relax, then you stay strong. I wonder if you can apply these concepts to life. I'm going to try it anyway, try to not resist whatever is coming up in my life.

Like I know right now, I'm so resisting finishing my screenplay. It was my promise to finish by tomorrow to have the class read and review it. I have only 12 scenes to go and they're very fast scenes too, but I'm so not into finishing it. I've been stalling all weekend, even though I know that it's due tomorrow. I'm even stalling right now by writing in my bloggie instead of writing my screenplay.

It's so weird that I'm resisting finishing my screenplay, because I've been so looking forward to moving on to my other pieces of writing. It's like the one thing I've been longing for, the end of my screenplay writing, I'm resisting now. It's weird, very weird. But I know I'll finish it. I have too much J in me from the myers briggs test. When there's a deadline, I finish things. I rarely flake out and when I have flaked in the past, it's always been a most humiliating experience for me. Like I've created some big crime or something. I've learnt to purposely flake out just to prove I didn't always have to keep my word, but it's never been a good experience.

What am I saying. I know I'll finish it. And when it's over, I'll be happy because it means I can go back to writing my short stories and my novel. Maybe I need to put on an inspirational CD. I bought one of those grammy award winning gospel cds by Yolanda Adams. It's great. It's full of songs about going on with your life no matter what and never giving up and stuff like that. It's very inspirational only because you get 60 minutes of the stuff and after awhile, you do sort of get inspired to do something with your life. It's a cheap trick I know, but sometimes it works. I just put it on.

"If I can see it, then I can do it, if I just believe it, then there's nothing to it, I believe I can fly". I mean, how can you not write after hearing mush like that. Most of the time I think it inspires me to write, because I get so sick of it, I start writing just to block out the songs. Whatever works right?

I was thinking today as I was lying sick in my bed, that if I believed in fairy tales or if I lived a fairy tale life, I probably wouldn't write. But I lead a common and regular life and if I can't have my happy ending in real life, I intend to have them in my stories, never mind that I don't really believe in happy endings and haven't really written a story with a happy ending yet.

Somwhere out there, there's a happy ending for one of my stories.

You know the gushy girly kind, where the really cute hunky guy from class, the one you've had a secret crush on for weeks, magically shows up somewhere you are. You see each other, your eyes meet, you smile, you move closer, and you start talking. Next you know, you're sitting in a coffee shop talking together like you were old friends, maybe even soul mates, a more romantic part of you thinks. Days go by and you and he are talking on the phone daily, exchanging email, chatting via AIM, till that one magical night when you're out together and all of sudden you find yourself back at his place and one thing leads to another. Then wooohooo! It's wild monkey sex, but you knew it would be that way all along because somehow you can always tell and you wouldn't have been interested in you weren't going to get WMS.

Okay, that's about all the happy ending I want right now.

Still it's a nice dream isn't it? The reality is, that really cute guy you've had a secret crush on in class, turns out to be not so bright. It's not that he's not bright, he earns a damned good living after all, but you couldn't discuss the many meanings of La Dolce Vita with him, or the finer points of the GOP presidential victory in Florida, or even The theory of the Force in Star Wars.

That my friend is real life. That my friend is reality. Which is why I think I write. I can create a reality where the really cute guy from class is a mini-Einstein, Bill Clinton, Warren Beatty, Mr D'Arcy, Neo from The Matrix guy all rolled into one 6 ft 2 in major hottie, melt in your mouth biscuit, with beautiful blue eyes.

The bloggie is finally working, although I'm not. I've either had the worst stomach flu I've had in years or a case of food poisioning, not sure which. Monday night came home from class with the worst headache. I rarely have coffee at night, except when I have a class. Maybe it was the coffee and the ride on the 31 Balboa with all its twists and turns that made me nauseous. Finally, I get up at 3 in the morning to take some aspirin which knocks me right out

Next day, I have three loose movements before work, five when I get to work, and then I throw up in my wastebasket at my desk four times. Not a good sign. I had a project due that day by 1:30 pm. I tried to tough it out and even managed to answer email and get half way through the project. By 10:30 am, I'm about to pass out so I leave.

And now I've been in bed since Tuesday. I thought I might go in today but those loose movements this morning really stopped me. I wish I knew what was wrong. I stepped on the scale and I lost four pounds in three days. On Tuesday, I would eat and then throw everything up. On Wednesday, I ate and then had to run to the bathroom 10 minutes later. I wonder what today will bring.

It's no fun being sick, especially since I've decided that my bed sucks and it's not the right kind of bed to lie about in for days on end. I think I need a new bed.

Testing my bloggie - unable to post, then the bloggie disappeared. Testing, testing, testing.