Saturday, Mar. 08, 2003 / 2:39 a.m.

~Synchronicity~

There is tremendous synchronicity at play here. There is irony abounding. There are coincidences that are too coincidental to be mere coincidence. My horoscope was eerily accurate. They are sometimes, I know, but this is almost frightening. To think that anyone could predict anything, to think that the position of the planets could really alter anything. I'm a skeptic. I'm interested, but I have both eyes open, always, I even cock an eyebrow.

First, Cainer said when the Moon is in your sign you become vulnerable, sensitive, and that is totally what happened to me the past few days. I was an emotional sponge, I was raw and open, I was overly sensitive, I felt everything too deeply, and all the phone calls at work destroyed me, I was left a shell of a human being.

And then the horoscope, I think it was on Yahoo!, that said someone from my past might re-enter my life, how was it put? I should find it, I should.

Herewith: "Today should find you continuing to work towards cherished goals, career and otherwise. Love matters may come to the forefront today, dear Aries. If you are currently involved, unexpected events in your life could bring you that much closer to your partner. If you are not involved, you could meet someone exciting, perhaps through group activities of some kind. Also, a longtime friend could suddenly appear to you in a new light. Whichever it is, expect some interesting developments."

Then there was earlier, posting to the message boards at moby.com, reading that interview with Moby, reading what he wrote about sex, "Sex is just an extension of talking.", expounding upon that concept, writing about Reg, again, and then actually experiencing it. And Stephanie leaving me a message, just after telling him about her, telling him about meeting Moby last Summer, how I would've done the threesome thing with her, and him. We three.

And what I wrote earlier, here, and how when I clicked on 'done!' I was taken to a login screen instead. That entry disappeared and I hardly cared, but now I'm wondering what I had written. It was the mood, and how something had to happen, and things did happen, it feels like everything happened, but really nothing did.

It's just so strange to be writing about a feeling, or a longing, or longing to long, and the other thing I wrote about was reading my diary, and an entry in particular I'd linked to. I had been to the moby.com boards and come back here to read my diary, to go back a year, and there was the whole thing with James, meeting him, the torturous turmoil and how I fed off it, how Moby's "18" was released within days of that event, how it all affected me.

I'd linked to this entry as an example of good turmoil, and I was saying that lately, that anger and hatred are the opposite, that I can't write anything when that's all I feel, that I'd rather be longing, desiring, lusting, that heartache is more productive than anger and frustration.

And after writng that, and losing it, and I don't even know, but I had someone tell me what an impact I had on him, that he thinks of me, still, and we figured it's been three years, and yes, things feel different now, and there was an odd, but welcome, and totally surprising intimacy there, and that's all I can say right now.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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