Before going on to other not so happy stuff, I just found the ultimate recipe:

150 grams of bluecheese (rochefort or even gorgonzola will work)

100 grams of butter

2 tablespoons of chopped nuts

One spring onion, chopped small.

Mix it all together, put it in the fridge for 20 minutes, and I swear to the gods, you'll be able to eat your shoes as long as you can put some of that butter on top. Absolutely fantastic.

I come to the conclussion then, that I'll be able to live as long as I can get the money to make this every day. Then I'll gather pebbles from the street, cover them with my dip, and gobble them down. Yum.

We bought a bottle of wine for lunch, and I'm finishing it off. Bel thinks I'm becoming and alcoholic, I just think I'm bored and depressed, and that's never good for me. I used to drink every single day before being with him. Not get drunk, mind me, but I did have my daily beer or scotch.

It all changed when we started living together, and that's why I say this is ultimately stupid. Why, am I thinking about leaving him because he frowns upon my drinking?

That's stupid, isn't it? And yet that's one reason. Not to say that I don't have fun with him, but how I wish he'd sometimes play along when I tell him I want to go out.

I know, I know. I'm an antisocial freak, I almost never want to go out. But you know what? Before him, I used to go out all the week. Strange, but true. And even though I wasn't a party animal, I used to enjoy myself, even if it was in a very inpollitically correct way.

Yeah, I know that reflects badly on me, but I've ceased caring.

Or sex --remains as the only coherent point around here-- I've given up on expecting to be nailed against a wall.... right now I'd settle for a bedmatch that lasted longer than 5 minutes... and that happened more frequently than once every six weeks...

Arghabadaballah. Boggye and dipshit.

I was looking into immagration to Canada yesterday. Do you know how much I gotta have if I want to go there legally? 8,000 dollars. Eight thousand bucks. Assuming that I could save 100 bucks a month from now on (that I can't), it'd take me six years to leave.

By then of course I'd be too old to leave.

I want to be out of here in a year, tops.

I've been thinking about getting a second job, too. Seemingly I won't ever be good enough for this country to give me ONE decently paid job, so maybe I should pursue having TWO crappingly paid ones.

But even so.... I'd be earning what? 700 bucks a month, and that if I'm lucky. It's 500 bucks of the rent alone. I can't count on Bel helping me here. He keeps getting madder and madder at me because of my pessimism, but I've stopped swallowing the tale that the band will get a contract soon. No, it's just me and my gun here. The girls are going to give me 100 bucks to help me, that leaves 400. It's 100 a month of the credit card, that's 500. We spend about 50 a week in groceries, that's the 200 left.

Peachy. Just fucking lovely.

Or, what I've been thinking about doing, is lie to him about how much I'm really earning.... and squirreling it away. It's another mark of disloyalty, but I've ceased caring about that too.

And what if they get the contract? Do I have a right to claim part of it? Argh. Some part of me says I do. It says that I've been supporting him for two years, I've been earning an average of 400 dollars a month, that's 9,600 for two years, and he's been enjoying about half of that money, so I deserve 4,800 bucks out of any deal he makes.

Oh but it seems so..... low. If I've been supporting him, it should be because I love him, right? I mean, I still love this man. With all the other men I've been with, there's always been a moment, generally when I'm looking at him, or he's looking at me, a clear distinct moment at which the thought comes to my head: I don't love this man.

That hasn't happened with Bel. I look at him, and I love him. I still think he's the greatest guy in the world, I'm just coming to think he's not right for me.

And I don't want to do that to him, but I still feel like he owes me. Is that too bitchy?