Almost without exception, when I sit down to write a journal entry it's because I have something to say. The under- currents of the week combine into a moment of clarity, which I attempt to approach through words; and, of course, usually fail to fully capture. Today, though, I have no idea what I'm going to write about. Which is not the same as having nothing to write about. I remember when another famous journalizer first suggested to me that I might keep an online journal, I laughed at the idea, since my little old life felt way too uneventful to be worth documenting in such detail. This last week, on the contrary, offers so many tantalizing subjects. But nothing has crystallized, no lessons have been drawn, and I'm left with the choice of either recounting a laundry list of happenings - trying to cover everything; or, instead, waffling, like I'm doing now.

Last night, I slept the night with someone for the first time in two years. My inability to sleep with someone else in the bed has always been one of the many obstacles in my life to a succesful relationship. While it's enjoyable to wake up next to a warm, affectionate body, it does require that you're actually in a state of sleep, first, from which you can wake. And that's always been the barrier. Last time, two years ago, it was when I was seeing Jed, and we tried a single night of sleeping together. Next morning, as the cold grey light from the Bay crept in, I was still staring at the ceiling, trying to avoid tossing and turning too much, lest I wake Jed.

Compared to that time, then, last night goes down as one of my more succesful efforts. I fell asleep at least three times, and must have slept for about half the night. Moreover, Chris, the guy I've been seeing, doesn't, apparently, snore; although he does talk to himself during the night, frequently in German. Where was I going with this? I have no idea.

Last Sunday, I had a horrible argument with one of my upstairs neighbors. I won't bore you with the details, but it's an argument that had been brewing for a while. She's very loud, and inconsiderate, and had ignored my polite attempts to have a reasonable dialogue about it. So last Sunday, at 8.00 p.m., I stormed up to her door, and we yelled at each other for a while. The noise continued until 10.00 p.m. by which time I was even angrier, and more depressed. Conflict never fails to get me down. In fact, it left me feeling sad and depressed for the next twenty-four hours. And even now, a week later, I still feel a little down when I'm at home, since every noise from upstairs reminds me that I'm living in a state of armed hostility with my neighbors. What saddens me the most is that I'd thought that I was on good terms with the two guys who live in the same apartment. But I've learned that they see me now as some kind of ogre in the basement, who complains at the slightest noise.

At least I've hardly been home all week, so haven't had to feel too much discomfort. It's funny; now that my chronic fatigue syndrome is seemingly cured, I'm tired all the time. But legitimately tired; insufficient sleep, and a crazily busy schedule. I'm running round each day from one activity to another, full of energy, until I reach a slow moment, say sitting on the subway, when I suddenly realize; jeez, I'm tired!