I can't even...

Okay, here's what I can say. The young man took my honesty well, and though there were hurt feelings at first, a gentleman is a gentleman, I guess. And by the end of the night I think we both came to believe that we really are going to be friends, which I'm very happy about. I think he is too.

And now I'm stuck. I have more to say, but I can't make myself say it yet. Still, I want it here, so that the next time I'm miserable about the same thing that I've been repeatedly miserable about for the past months, I can come back here, and read it, and remember that it isn't hopeless. And that I'm not alone in being miserable about it. And that if we are both so miserable then maybe... I don't know. But I can't do this yet, I guess. Maybe I'll try again later.

And, to casually change the subject, I love the Sunday morning news on CBS. The sets, the outfits, it's like watching television through a window that looks into 1981. Except that's not true, it isn't really like looking at the past. It's more like looking into certain parts of Canada. And sometimes certain of the broadcasters, the film reviewer in particular, seem to forget that people might be watching, and they say some of the most wonderfully horrible things. This morning when he was talking about In the Cut and Jane Campion, I actually got nervous for a second. There was just such a strong look of disgust on his face. His distrust of Jane Campion, he said, "goes back to even before she chopped off Holly Hunter's finger!" I worried he was going to fall off of his stool. I love him.