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October 22, 2003 when i come crawling back The entries in this journal will slow to a trickle and maybe stop, not unlike my urine stream.  I will be spending some time pursuing a dream of mine, the dream of becoming an exotic dancer.  Seriously, I'm scratching another itch and, contrary to what you may have read on bathroom walls, there is only so much of me to go around. I feel your pain.  I read Rex Morgan and Mary Worth each morning.  I know what it's like to be addicted to the slightly unremarkable.  Routines can become simple pleasures, simple pleasures can become great joys, and the word butt-plug will always be funny. I also feel my pain.  This journal has been like a child to me, only cheaper and not as scary.  Actually, now that I think of it, this journal is nothing like a child. But you shouldn't worry.  I have every confidence the other venture will fail miserably and I'll be back here.  I will have lost you, perhaps, but nobody knows better than I that nothing lasts forever unless you count post-coital snuggling when a big game is on television. You may want to read old entries or you may realize you have a life.  Whatever you do, please don't make too much fun of me when I come crawling back.

©  2003 by the beastmaster