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Monday, Jun. 09, 2003 - 8:26 p.m.

I can accept, and even approve of, the logical position which states that one should not require a companion for completion. My heart, unsurprisingly, has other ideas.

It gnaws at me ceaselessly, this singular inability to form meaningful relationships. The friends I have misread me constantly, mistaking truth for falsehood more often than hope allows for. So I find myself alone, and indulging in that most forbidden of Lawrencian sins, self-pity.

Why am I alone? It is certainly my fault. Ever since I was a child I have, for some reason I have been unable to discern, remained friendless. Some aspect of my visage, or personality, repels people, and recognising this fact is like a thorn, nay, like a lance, through my side.

I am not a people person, and yet the very essence of politics, the combat of ideas in the public arena, the interaction with people who would seek to use government as a tool to improve the status quo, deeply resonates with me. But how am I supposed to follow such a dream if the very people I purport to represent find it impossible to believe that their same hopes and dreams are coursing through my veins?

My immediate problems are more...immediate - and relevant. I look all around me on this island and friends are in love or have fallen out of it, acquaintances on the cusp of being married, and here I stand in my room, pacing and waiting. Conscious effort in romantic matters seems useless: what are the chances that on this island there exists someone attracted to a coolly cerebral, gregarious culturophile who is wedded to the idea of banterous dialogue as a means of self-improvement in stages? A six foot tall Woody Allen? Not very good, by the looks of things.

My 'conundrum' is that I do not want what I could have, and what I would want is beyond me. I seem faintly ridiculous to myself. I do my best to make sure that the world ignores me, but then when my wish is fulfilled I develop an ineluctable urge to shout from the rooftops, a situation from which the idea for this journal was derived. I don't need someone to validate my ideas, my intellectual status. But things like intimacy, moral re-assurance...I may have such a short life on this earth for a reason discussed in one of my first diary entries, and the days are winding down, and I am alone sitting at a computer when I would much rather be out walking and making sense, meaningfully, of this just-inhabitable world that we live in.

I live running around in circles. But, and I readily admit this an ignoble wish, would that I had some companion to accompany me in my ever-present state of diziness.

Troilus

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