Things I learned today:
--In my biology lab I found out that I'm missing something called the "Alu element" from some particular point on my 16th chromosome. Luckily, that stretch of DNA doesn't do anything. The whole time I just kept thinking "Wouldn't it be more fun to test for the gay gene?"
--15 minutes of Level 15 on the stairmaster is all I can handle.
--Catherine Keener and Dermot Mulroney are divorcing. I personally think he's a bit of a jackass. A few years ago I was working in a building where Alexander Payne was casting the movie About Schmidt. We saw tons of annoying actor people come through there: Anne Heche, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Dave Matthews (yeah, marblemouth singer guy; he was completely lecherous, btw)... and the day Dermot came in Alexander came out into the hallway and said, "Hey! It's so great to meet you! I can't believe you're coming in to read!" Dermot threw him this nasty look and said, "I'm not reading." Oh yeah -- 'cause you're such a HUGE STAR that you don't need to audition anymore. Ppptttthhhh. Clearly he's to blame for this divorce. Oh, and also I used to work at a talent agency that repped him, and his agent was practically having a stroke over all the pressure he put on her to get him big movies. Uh... IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN, DERMOT.

 

My molecular biology midterm didn't go so well. I haven't gotten the grade yet, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be a disappointing number. I got that I-should-have-studied-more feeling about a third of the way through.

I should have spent a week preparing for that test, but it was all I could do to force myself to study for four days. I can't stop obsessing over The Canadian's situation. I feel like I'm getting better now, but I'm still not 100%. I try to conceal it, because nothing I'm thinking really makes much sense. It's like I have this cognitive understanding of what's happening to him that is completely removed from my emotional response to it. And that emotional response translates into the most random thoughts. For instance, I feel incredibly guilty. Why would I feel that way? It's ridiculous; I know it's ridiculous, yet there it is. I feel inadequate -- like I need to change myself somehow even though I don't feel that that's really possible....

I don't know. I'm not making any sense. And you're probably wondering why my thoughts aren't more focused on The Canadian, since he's the one with all the problems. But I don't have much perspective when it comes to him, I guess. I still feel so connected to him. Not to him so much as to what he represents -- the life we had when we were together. I still feel connected to that relationship -- to what we were as a couple. So much of what I've learned about life has come from the time I spent with him -- so the fact that he's in this position now has made me question everything about who I am and how I operate in the world. More than that, it's made me question life and how unstable and chaotic a place the world can be... how quickly walls can split apart and how unprepared anyone is for impending cataclysmic doom.

I went to see a counselor on Tuesday. We get 12 free sessions per semester. I didn't think I'd have much to say to a counselor, honestly, because until our meeting I really thought I was feeling better. When I started recounting what had happened, though, I could barely get the words out I was crying so hard.

I just have to keep going. I went back to the gym yesterday for the first time in weeks. I'm here at the library now and I'm just going to force myself to read and do homework. I've now spent 45 minutes writing this post; reading over it, I want to hit "delete." So much of what I wrote makes me feel silly when I read it. I keep having these waves of despair (see above) and then I'll feel totally in control (like I do right now). Am I going crazy?

Okay. Now I'm definitely stopping. The kid at the computer next to me just released a toxic amount of gas.

 

When I stepped into the elevator at the clinic this morning I was greeted by a sweet-faced little old lady.

"I meant to go to a different floor," she said.

I smiled at her when the door opened at her floor. As she stepped out she said, "I'm confused. I'm like a mushroom: keep me in the dark and throw some poop on me."

Uh....

 

I feel like I'm getting myself back together now. My hectic school schedule is helping (I had a test yesterday and I'll have another next week). Today I have to memorize amino acid structures and the bonding of base pairs in DNA and thankfully my brain can only hold so much information at one time. So the stress over The Canadian is being momentarily ignored.

The further I get from our interaction (it's been a week now) the less real it seems. Actually, I'm going to have to stop writing about him now because I really do have a lot of work to do. I can't get drawn into thinking about him again.

On a more positive note, yesterday was Drew's birthday. Knowing I was short on funds, he asked if I could take him to In 'n Out and then go home and pop open a bottle of champagne we've been saving. At In 'n Out I got animal style fries for the first time.

It's just wrong for something to taste that good.

 

I ran into The Canadian this past Thursday night.

I hadn't seen him since January. He looked different. He had lost some hair and quite a bit of muscle mass, and he seemed incredibly sad. I asked him how he was doing and he said "Not good."

"Why? What's going on?"

He hesitated before admitting "Drugs. Some prescription, some not prescription."

"What non-prescription drug, exactly?"

"Crystal."

Unbelievable. He used to get onto me for smoking pot. I could tell he was down, so I skipped the lecture.

"Where are you living?"

"Nowhere at the moment. My new boyfriend, Manuel, and I have been staying in cheap motels and bathhouses."

"Jesus. Do you need a place to stay?"

"No no no. Thanks, though."

"Well..."

I wasn't sure what to say now. "So tell me what else is going on. How's your mom?"

"I haven't talk to her in about a month, but I think she's doing well."

Jesus. He used to talk to his mother every other day.

"Now you're starting to scare me. What's going on with you? What happened?"

"Nothing good."

"Tell me."

"I'd have to write you a book."

"Give me chapter headings, then."

He smiled but he seemed uncomfortable with my questions. I asked for his number. He found me later and handed me a slip of paper. "Don't read it until you get home," he said.

I was too drunk to read it that night. To be honest, I kind of forgot about it. The next morning Drew and I found it on the bedside table.

It devastated me. That sounds so melodramatic, but I can't find words that come close to capturing how this note knocked the wind out of me.

"CHAPTER LIST

1 - Breakdown
2 - Depression
3 - Isolation
4 - Boyfriend #1
5 - Crystal addiction
6 - Abusive relationship
7 - Legal action
8 - Boyfriend 2
9 - Depression
10 - Suicide attempt
11 - Boyfriend #2 is awesome
12 - HIV + (boyfriend #2 is negative
13 -motels / bathhouses."

In January he was healthy. He was sober. He had a nice big apartment in Hollywood.

That was eight months ago.

I've put off writing this entry because I couldn't imagine turning this into a story that made any kind of sense. I can't wrap myself around this. I care about him so much. I spent more than two years thinking that he and I would grow old together. We talked about having kids and buying a house. We were building a life together. And somehow, even though that life ended a while ago, I feel like a part of me died last week. Like the guy I loved is gone now.