There's a David Sylvian song that PondLife told me about--- I can't recall if it's called "Dark December" or "December Dreaming". "Darkest Dreaming", maybe. I can't recall the exact title tonight. PondLife at Diaryland sent me to a YouTube link for a video--- beautiful song, lovely video. I really do need to find the exact title...and the CD it's from. I've always been a David Sylvian fan--- that voice, that whole dream-haunted world Sylvian has sung about ever since he was with Japan.

It occurs to me that no one is ever going to be a friend-and-correspondent again. I'm not expecting comments or notes again that I'll ever read. I think I've driven everyone away--- I've angered everyone who might write me.

I know I'll never hear from girls I've cared about, or girls I hoped would be my friends, ever again. One girl in the Anaheim Hills had spoken with me Thursday and promised to call me on Sunday evening. She didn't, of course. She won't speak to me ever again. I can't read any comments she left--- I never can read Bad News. I had wanted her to call--- I'd been waiting for the call. She's someone I like, someone I'd hoped would be a friend. But she's never going to call, even though she'd been kind and supportive in a note Wednesday evening and been on the phone Thursday. I'll never hear from her again.

A girl in the Pacific Northwest sent a volley of texts to say she wouldn't be calling this weekend. She'd told me last week that she was planning to call me over the weekend post-Adventure. Her plan was to have sex with a random boy Friday night and then call me Saturday to tell me how it had gone. The boy was twenty or so--- half the age of her usual partners ---and did use strawberry-flavoured condoms, but the point of it all was to do a one-stand stand, to have a Story, to do something slutty. And the plan had been for her to bring me the Story, to bring me the Details. And then she decided that I lacked that Value--- or that whatever I'd been writing had driven her away. I won't hear from her again--- let alone be someone she finds worth bringing Stories back to.

A girl in Vegas, a girl I've liked and whose entries I've found delightful and fun over the last several years has Dismissed me. Over things I've written. Jill at dehumidifier is a bright and lovely girl, and I wish I could just tell her that there are things I've felt and said based on how angry I am, over how condescending and dismissive girls had been to me in the past. I want to be able to tell her that for the last week or so I've been bitter and angry and alone and consumed with envy and self-loathing. I'll miss her, miss her humour and wit.

I'll never hear from someone in Baltimore again, either. There are books and music and ideas I won't be able to talk about (and, yes, Stories I won't get to share). One more voice I do miss--- one more girl who'll become a ghost from a better past.

I am running out of people who'll speak to me. I understand that I'm a priori unfuckable, that no girl will ever bring a toothbrush just in case on a first date. Not only will no girl do for me what they do for Others, no one will even speak to me again. No flirtations in the flesh, and now none across the aether. Rachel at sirena73 won't be calling from the Anaheim Hills. No one who told me last week that they'd call me now finds me worth calling or ever will call again.

There's no one in the flesh, and I've run out of voices, too.