So all I have to do is make the little thigh holsters today while doing nothing much at work. Cause really there's nothing much to do today.

I saw an interesting play last night called the Matka King about a hijra in India who owns a brothel and runs a gambling game. It was different, to say the least and though he was wearing lipstick, nail polish and a sari, the lead guy was rather hot.

The ankle is healing alright, though still very tender and the muscles up the side of my calf all the way up to my knee burn occasionally like I've pulled them to shit, which I'm sure I have. So a warm bath really helps.

SHIT I better shave my legs.

This week has gone by fairly quickly and I wish that the next week would go by just as quickly because hell, I hate working.

I'm still contemplating Tromley. There is obviously interest on his side, but I'm not so sure about my side still. And I guess not being sure is indication enough that maybe it's not the right relationship to try for. But I think I might enjoy hanging out with him more and more, the more time I spend with him. I just wish he expressed himself a little better. He sometimes makes no sense and though I'm sure it makes sense to him, it comes out kinda garbled and we just look at him like..er......ok. The idea of sex with him is still kinda appealing but I still don't know if I actually want to DO it.

Meanwhile I still fantasize about Jackrabbit. He's my main masturbation fodder and I can't seem to shake that.

Tomorrow would have been the day to see him again. Had he accepted my offer.

Tomorrow is the day. We met one year ago.

I had offered to meet him at 10pm at the Granville Book Store, which is where we met for the first time on Novemeber 1, 2002. I thought it would be a nice way to re-start our friendship, a year-shaped box, I called it, to pack up the last year in and bury it, and start fresh again, as friends.

But he felt it was too soon, and felt that I was pushing and the idea of seeing me again so soon made him jittery. It made his heart sink that I would even ask. So I was understandably hurt. I felt rejected again. I think the imagery I used was I reach out to him and he cuts off the end of my arm, and each time I reach out to him he cuts of another piece of it, and sooner or later, I'll have no arm left to reach out with.

I guess I learn the hard way. I always have.