Last night I was thinking hard about this whole business, and I came to the realization that I liked The Irishman because he was funny, because the sex was satisfying, and because I liked having a companion and having fun. We had a few common interests, but we didn't have that genuine soulmate-type connection, you know? I don't know what that's like exactly, but I know we didn't have it.

That doesn't mean I'm not still a weepy mess, though. I forgot my sunglasses at work yesterday and had to walk around with my red-rimmed, watery eyes out in the open for everyone to see. See that, people???? See how shitty I feel???? Now get away from me and don't ask me for one damn thing today!

Breakfast today is plain challah and ginger ale with a V-8 chaser. That's my personal remedy for the queasies.

Speaking of the queasies, isn't it a good thing I started taking the pill? Now I have queasiness, breast pain, and no sex. Wheeeeeeee.

Maybe I should call my therapist and warn him before today's session.

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