It all started innocently enough. Started reading K.W. Jeter's "Noir" while waiting to get some info on some I.T. courses. Thinking about it, it might help me get through this weekend.

Anyway after taking a test and an interview, I just have to do some more bureaucratic bullshit dancing in order to see *if* I can get that course. *If* I take it and once I pass it, my job prospects should improve. I went to the radio station and started to work on uploading last week's show. Eze's computer was not converting the mp3's so I use the laptop. Uploading one file but three to go. I finish the second hour and it all hits the fan.

Bedlam. Chaos. All hell breaks loose, and that's an understatement.

She needs her space and I respect her wishes. Even though I see what she's going through. You deserve that and more. Yes, it hurts but instead of relying on emotional blackmail, or pushing it, I'd rather follow your wishes, and hope for the best. That's the least thing I can do. Still, I worry and I'm concerned. I sit and wait. There's something between us, and I think whatever you decide, you're great, you're beautiful and there's nothing in this life that would please me more than to make you happy. I think it's only fair to say that we deserve a shot at it. Your selflessness amazes me, but look at the whole picture.

Just when I get out of the station, I get a call from him. Anger, outrage, way out of control. Hurt like hell. You've put me on a pedestal against my wishes. I'm not above anyone. I'm just human. I told you again and again and again, yet you put me there. Like I warned you: I'm just human. I'm bound to make mistakes. Just like everybody else.

You don't want to be my friend? Fine. You're leaving? It's your call. I wish I could stop you from doing all this damage to yourself, but it's your choice, and you won't listen. All I have to say is:

I'm sorry

Think carefully what you say and what to do. You're acting out of rage and frustration, not the best way to reach a decision. Not the way to deal with the cards given to you. If you still think that's the way to handle it, fine. Go your own way. You decide to walk away, and no one can stop you.

I hope you sort out your problems. You're a great person, but troubled. So are the rest of us, but even you realize you need help to sort it out. I hope you do. I know right now you hate my guts and I'm sorry. My door remains open.

Now, I sit and wait.