Ugh.

Frank - for some reason I miss him more than ever.

Perhaps what I miss most is believing that I mattered to him. I don't think he was indifferent, but for whatever reason he decided not to express his non-indifference in a way that'd make sense to me. It's such a let down. I am tempted to equate my worth with his disinterest, but I'll pass. Don't worry though, the unexpressed self-doubt, self-loathing and judgment is fighting for room in my head with the resentment and anger and hurt I feel toward him. My head-ache and horniness are betting on the outcome.

I stopped following him in Reader. The jolt every time I saw his name was too much.

I should be pleased he took my injunction against communication seriously. He is not insulting me by presuming I didn't mean it. In the light of recent and historical feelings of helplessness and invisibility it would be hypocritical not to...

It's odd that with his absence he gives me something I crave so much, something that is so absolutely unavailable in his presence.

Finally you see me, Frank.