the come-down of being home again is made easier by this nascent springtime carelessness I've found. no more caring. no more investing. I mean in the trouble-ass relationship department. I am sick of feeling wound-up for two, when half of the two seems not to give half a shit about anything past never feeling claustrophobic. so fuck it. fuck all the presumptive investment and the trying-to-figure-it-out. henceforth only-me all-the-time, all-effacing, all-devouring, just-me, that's-it, the-end. I'm so sick of investing in what I think another person should be investing in me and the fiction-future that may or may not ever be. so sick so sick of it. it's getting in the way of EVerything for me. every thing. from now on there is no future but the one that only I make for only me. I don't care I don't care I don't care. henceforth. no more boyfriend-what-are-you-doing? & what-are-you-thinking? & what-about-us-and-the-future? & when?-when?-when? & so forth. none. neit. nein. no more of it. because it doesn't do any, any fucking good. man-children need tough love if they are ever, ever to grow up. if I let you get into my daydreams now, consider yourself fucking lucky, mister. you are ousted from all thoughts but present-thoughts. screw all the rest of the noise.