Last night I sang for the Chrism Mass. It was actually that night, and not on Saturday. I guess somehow I must have gotten mixed up with my dates. The churchgoers were raucous (many of them were children and teenagers), rooting for their local priest. I believe the Chrism Mass is the yearly renewing of their priestly vows, and so therefore it was deemed cause for celebration in the usual manner, even though the Bishop of the diocese was there to principally celebrate. We had no problems, aside from those related to acoustics; apparently someone had fiddled around with the organ enough so that the poor harpist who was invited to accompany was practically drowned out in a very loud pedal. I rode back with three philistine Catholics all over the age of 40–returning late in the evenings and retiring also late. However this is the second to the last mass I shall sing this season, praise God, a little extra money to satisfy the coffers of this house.I am not sure how I feel today. Many emotions have been running through me in these past two weeks. Last week Ryan did something to me that was very hurtful, and it almost killed off our friendship. It seems now that perhaps I am too open with certain persons wh only seek to utilize me when they need a quick answer or a paper written, without ever considering that I have feelings and emotions. Now I don’t even want to visit Ryan. I shouldn’t have this much inner pain inside; I shouldn’t hurt this much, when he tells me things like these. But then again I am so pathetic of course I can’t change or move, because it will upset me so easily. And perhaps I know now, out of all these trying things, that it is inutile trying to express any sort of sentiment to Ryan, because he will not understand it. I have tried to find comparisons in the lives of others, and it is nonexistent. But maybe in the grand scheme of things this was meant to happen. As for him, the only thing I can presently mention is that he will be returning to Dallas for the spring holiday and returning on Easter Sunday, but he has told me that he will be attending some sort of social event for the “bear community” (as he calls it, anyway) in that city, that he has rented a hotel room expressly for that purpose, and will be congregating with his friends who have done the same. The idea of congregating in some dingy hotel with a bunch of bored middle-age perverts seeking the last dying throb of their alcohol-soaked youth is altogether repugnant to me. But then again, as an outsider, I will never understand why anyone would do that sort of thing in the first place. I shouldn’t have to go to a hotel or a convention space to be able to express myself fully, at least sexually speaking. And the truly horrible and frightening thing is–Ryan has more friends than I do–and if that is not a clear indication of what sort of expectations I have, than I do not know what else might satisfy the conclusion.I am confused and bewildered, and perhaps a little frightened too. I am in one of my depressive states, and I am cycling back and forth. And while I do not crave death here and now, I long for peace in my body and soul. I have more arguments with nonexistent, mind-born entities than with anyone else. I do not know what to do.