Do you ever have the desire to stalk the shit out of someone? If only it would make them come to heel and make them fall in love with you.

I feel sad, and a little mad, that this is how it will be. That we will fall out of touch. It has already begun. I wish it could fastforward itself and come to the end of the road. But I've already accepted that I'll have to live through the slow, dimly hurtful, painful process of it: such an emotional chore, really. I also accept that you are not special, often lame, nondescript, someone whose ways I would notice and ignore, or grit my teeth against. That nonetheless you know the art of boundaries, of carving out and guarding your own time against demands on it by people who are good to you. This is something I haven't mastered. If I did, I would also be another person. If I want someone, it seems they can have me until I am almost falling apart.
Unfortunately, you are not so stupid that you don't understand what I say. None of O's new age men are. Va, va, va-t'en! Or better still, as the dictionary says, Prends tes affaires et va-t'en!

I have pain on the right of my chest. Enough pain for it to be a concern. Let me get through the night, God, and tomorrow I'll go to the doctor. I'm rather scared.