smth broke inside...no, i can't be cynical. i'm just turning pallid. seems like the marrow's leaking away through a hole inside. nothing hurts me, nothing excites me.

i'm not writing to a... every morning the first thing i love doing is say barev. not now. i still greet him every morning, but don't send it to him. i could never push myself on someone, and he does not seem to be too willing to keep in touch. at least there is no sign he is. well, the good thing is he's recovering.

i'll just leave him have it his way. no, i don't want to prove him wrong:-) as Justice (whoever s/he may be) suggests. simply i'm convinced that one-way direction is a lonely direction and i can't be lonelier than i am. no sense to continue.

i'm constantly thinking of adopting a child. perhaps a boy. i want to care about someone. my parents need this care, but they live apart and they will suffer leaving v. i have excess of love, it tortures me, and these kids may be willing to use it. people around keep saying i should have my own kid... can't hide how tempting it sounds........................ but i can't make a child unhappy if i can make one happy. these kids don't have parents and a mother might be a better option, than no parents at all. do i have the right to deprive my kid of a father and do this knowingly? no. it's already too egotistic to think of a child, i don't need to push over the limits:-( kids adorn love, no need to disgrace it.

and i want my parents to welcome the kid. now they can't hear of him. i can't stand the child not being loved in his family. or her, i don't really care.

i love dovlatov. my new discovery. he's sincere, precise, knows his way with words. he's sharp like a knife but does not hurt. the pain's dissolved in love infiltrating his every sentence. he's unpretentiously honest. reminds of hemingway he admired so much: clear-cut words hiding truths inside. не ясные истины, а глубокие...

got to run.

i love the sensation: an ensemble of swirling dervishes having turned your head into a stage:-) it's been for quite a while i've had any beverage influence me thus.

no surprise i'm writing here. i'm confused. or it would have been more accurate to say it hurts to feel you're ordinary:-) noooooooooooo, i've no pretensions of being extraordinary, talented or whatever. i'm not, i'm a regular, average armenian, but i do not fit into this reality. that is i do. i don't know what the problem is. i'm again forging a sophisticated female species ...

i wish i could keep things simple: i live my own life until you're available. we make love, you leave, i go on living. i wish i can cope with not being loved. you say it's an incredible feeling and i believe you. i don't know. i've never been loved.

i'm reading these different blogs and i feel so miserable. but i can't change, or perhaps i don't want to. i read about women driven by passion and pain, sensuality and love. they love, hate, copulate, despair... i can't. i can't make love because i feel vengeful, evil, curious, horny... i make love when i like the man. i don't need diversity to write about it. oneness encloses all the possibilities for diversity: whatever i can do with one, i can do with many.

i have to learn how to love you and be one of the many... but this is not love.