The end is nigh.

Somehow, this weekend, i am going to gather every last piece of my courage and fortified reserve, and i am going to end this constant discussion of "will we separate temporarily or for good?" I say constant, but in reality i bring it up, we talk, i get cold feet and insist on a trial separation, he stamps and yells and says "oh no, what's the point?" and i can't bear the nastiness and the tension so i give in, as i have been conditioned to do for so many years, and i can't stand it any more, and I'm so fucking miserable, and when is my conscious state going to get the webos to do what my subconscious state has been telling me -- and you all, via my fingertips, which is its main mode of escape -- that i should have done way back in March 2005 and get single already for crissakes, i mean, AAG did it, and she's my fucking heroine and i can do it, i just need the boost, i just need the push; and he took my car with my sunglasses in it this morning and i have to go into town and now i have to squint like Renee Zellwegger at the Golden Globes all the way in, which pisses me off, i should be able to know that if i leave MY sunglasses in MY car, then they will still be there when i wake up, even if i did stagger in at about 3.30 from a night of what could potentially have been debauched fun but in reality wasn't because i have the tail end of the curse, and it still bothers me -- yes, i know, the Feminists will probably revoke my membership for this, but i actually don't like the idea of a man eating my pussy when I've got the curse... sue me, bitches, see if i give a rat's ass.

Stream of consciousness from a barely conscious and somewhat tearful Minx. If ever i needed comfort and support, it's today. Love you all.

(I can hear hyenas. I see them.)