Well, I am a free man once again. My temp job is complete and my typing fingers have been liberated from the foul task of transcribing tiny little numbers from one place to another. I am now returned to my rightful state, which is looking for the next thing while I drink lots of coffee and smoke lots of cigarettes.

I am also pleased that my chunky, four digit tax return comfortably allows me a brief, few days reprieve before jumping into the next soul smothering temp assignment.

God bless a struggling writer.

So! The 2nd Annual Unofficial Diaryland Show and Tell went swimmingly yesterday, as many of you well know. Any time you post pictures of simulated fellatio, people respond favorably.

There were a lot more participants than last year, as far as I could tell. I'm going to list all of the ones that I know about, and if I've missed you, let me know.

Allumeuse, Genghis-Jon, Its4Me, Janna182, SynapticBurn, Biensoul, Marn, EHAdams, Cuppajoe, Waterstain, Mnvnjnsn, Golfwidow, LimeGreenMan, Ramanda, and an honorable mention goes to DFunk14, who assures me she would have participated had she had HTML skills.

I strongly encourage you to visit each and every one of them, as all of their pages are filled with visual goodness for your delight. Next April 30th, we will see Show And Tell Day become a Diaryland institution.

Oh, and special thanks to our friend Natalie for taking the pictures I posted. I couldn't have done it without her ability to point a camera at things and press a button, which she does very well.

Last night, I spent nearly an hour on the phone with my high school friend Becky.

The previous Friday, Becky found herself on the business end of a horrendous breakup. Being somewhat of an expert on the topic myself, especially lately, I found myself in the role of supportive friend. Besides, what with my recent troubles, a few people have been very good to me, allowing themselves to act as a sounding board to my thoughts, and I figured it was time to return the favor.

Becky read to me a letter she was planning on sending to her ex-boyfriend.

After listening to it, I told her what I honestly thought. I told her that it was a really beautiful piece of writing, that it articulated brilliantly what she was feeling, that it was clear and concise, with everything that she was saying perfectly expressed and justifiable.

Then I told her that there was no way in hell she should send that letter right now.

"You don't want him to read this, Beck," I said to her. "As good as it is, right now you're writing from a place of pain and confusion. Everything you're saying is fine and right, but it's all coming from anger and hurt, and a few weeks down the line, you're not going to feel this way, and then this letter won't properly represent you. It's just going to turn into an embarassing artifact that you wish had never existed."

I was speaking from a position of some authority. You see, after my recent breakup with that Abby girl, I did exactly what Becky wanted to do. I sent a fucking letter.

Yes. I am a girl with a penis.

And, oh, what a letter it was, people. Just like Becky's, the tone was calm and cool, and I thought in my heart it was the right thing to do. "I've been wronged," went my thinking at the time. "And the person who wronged me should know how it made me feel."

Beck's letter was surprisingly similar in structure to mine. Here's how my little note broke down:

1: I'm writing this because it seems like we can't talk right now.

2: How could you do this particular thing to me?

3: How could you do that particular thing to me?

4: It was wrong and surprising and hurtful that you did these things. Don't you remember the good times, baby?

5: If you want to apologize to me, great. If not: Adios, toots!

6: I'll miss what we had.

Yeah. I actually wrote that. Pieces of paper actually exist on this planet a few miles from where I'm sitting right now that document the brief period in my life where I turned into a big, slobbering emotional baby.

Fun!

It's not that what I wrote in the letter wasn't valid. It was, as everyone has a right to their feelings, of course. It's just that now, a few weeks down the line, I don't feel that way anymore. I don't feel angry, I don't feel hurt, and I don't feel confused. What I do feel is a bit of embarassment for writing when I was in the thick of an emotional time. It didn't help, and, if anything, it probably irrevocably hurt the situation.

That lesson I learned earlier this week? That entry in which I was being so vague? I learned/remembered/realized that everyone is human. Everyone is flawed, and that's OK. I just can't stay mad when I think about the fact that no one ever acts in a perfect way, especially when it comes to breakups, and especially me. A strong case could be made that she didn't owe me a proper conversation. After all, who really owes anyone anything? A strong case could also be made that she did, or at the very least, that it would have been "more right." But, as they say, all's fair in love and war.

I think that, looked at objectively, it wasn't a shining moment for either of us.

The ideal thing that I could have done, what I would have done had I had the presence of mind for it: The first time she had expressed feelings that she had wanted to take a break for a while, I should have just been big about it, stepped back, and given her all the time she needed. The reason I didn't was because I had just, for the first time, allowed myself to get really comfortable in the relationship. In other words, I liked her and I didn't want to lose her. The other reason is that I, like a lot of people, feel a compulsion to do everything they can to fix a situation. Sometimes I feel like all any given circumstance needs is the right amount of communication and the willingness to work it out.

Big lesson learned there: Sometimes the best thing to do is to leave a situation alone. You can't (always) perform surgery with words.

It all seems silly and inconsequential now, and my predominant feeling is that I miss my flawed former friend.

Oh, and the capper? What did I do when I had this epiphany earlier this week?

Yes, I sent her an email.

That's why I called that entry "The Bill Newsletter is Distributed Once Every Two Weeks." It had been about that long since the initial letter.

If anyone would like to save me from myself, I welcome you.

I feel good about this last email, though. It came from the right place. It may never be responded to, it may never be read as the pure expression of the real way I feel, and it may just be entered as evidence into the "What the hell is wrong with that Bill guy?" file, but that's just fine. I'm at peace with it all now.

I'm human, and I'm OK with that.