Aw, fuck.

This is a bulletin to let you all know that I have just broken up with the man who I was stupid enough to let become the center of my world. As a consequence, I am completely insane now. Challenges are on hold until further notice.

Shit shit shit.

I really thought I was in love. I thought that this was a man I might someday call my master.
(Ha!) Just today I noticed that his number in my phone book is 42. The meaning of life, the universe and everything. I noticed this as I was dialing to dump him.

He cried. I cried more. He tried to talk me out of it, but I am just done listening to his sweet talk, his reasonable explanations, his cool-headed, seemingly logical excuses.

Oh, that man. He is so fucking charming. He can make me forgive him for anything. Can make me take it and beg for more. Well, no, that was the part I liked. But I have come to realize he's about 77 percent bullshit and I want no more of that.

I need a good man, now. One who will take care of me and not disregard my body, my safety, my future. One who will keep me safe. Who I can trust.

Shit.

I just dumped James and I don't even know for sure if it was right or wrong. Even after all that. That's what it's always like, saying good bye to a lover, though. You have all your reasons that you tell yourself. You know it's right. But still on the tip of your tongue is that hysterical scream--
No, come back, I love you!....

Right or wrong, though, I am free. It feels damn good. I think I needed that. I may miss him in the coming weeks, but maybe I've done enough missing him. I was an addict. I craved him when he was gone, soared on the most amazing high every moment I was with him, and went into withdrawal the moment he left. Idiot, shivering, helpless withdrawal. I was a junkie. I would do anything for my fix.

You know the man I am talking about. You have read about him, in two of his incarnations-- James as I knew him on the Playa, as I wrote about the man himself-- or who I thought he was-- in "Birthday Girl." You also have read about the painful imprint he's made on my psyche. For who is Magnus, really? His real name, the name by which we are not supposed to address him, is James. I did not pick that name for him, that name which rings with such eerie accuracy. Zheyna did. This is who he is, truly-- just a man who likes to get what he wants, and knows all to well how to do so.

All my worship, doubt and fear went into these stories. It fed my artistry. Now I am disillusioned. And of course disillusionment kills poetry. Or else I will have nothing to write in the coming months but pain and hate.

I'll see him on the Playa again. Shit, that will be awkward. But by then I will have grown. And I will be able to look him in the eye without trembling-- something I have never, ever done.

I want to end this entry with the perfect words. But I have none. Just this: we have parted ways. Incredibly life goes on. I will never be the same. I doubt he'll change.

Good bye, sir.