I found Zhora's accident report from his last car again today. He showed it to me a couple days ago, but I just skimmed it and looked at the diagram. Today I read it thoroughly and made some sense of the broken English and the margins that had been damaged by photocopy.

He was traveling with a Yuliya -- he cites their addresses as being the same. He hasn't said anything of her. I know his roommates are Oxana and Igor. It's a little perplexing. I'm spending days doing nothing, reading alone in his place. My VISA bill is now three days late; I'll be getting a notice soon, and my dad will not like that. Perhaps I can intercept it, in the manner of progress reports of old.

Last night was strange and wonderful. Chrissy managed to lighten my foul mood by taking me over to Chad's for a little recreation. I found out that Chad has recently beaten the snot out of Sean and his brother Danny over a mishap that occurred while they were at Six Flags in St Louis. So strange! I remember wanting to latch onto Sean, earlier in the summer, when I was desperate for romantic attention. I'm glad that it didn't work out; the vibe I feel from him is desperate and sad and awful -- worse than the one I feel from Zhora, even when he's in a bad mood. And Sean has been getting nothing but worse -- Chrissy says that he might be sad and embarrassed that nothing really worked out between the two of us, but I don't think that's the case. I'm only a small misfortune in the grand scheme of things, I think.

It turned out I had little to worry about, as far as last night was concerned. Vtalik and Zhora cooked and invited Chrissy and I over, and Zhora asked if I wanted to spend the night at his place, and of course I said yes, even though I knew it would mean another lonely day by myself waiting for him to come home, putting off things that I know I need to do. I will not stay long when he returns; I'm moving in tomorrow -- so much needs to be done. Perhaps he will stay on campus with me a couple nights instead of having me come back here with him. He's a strange little dude.

I miss Paige terribly, and Becky, and Tim, and Kimb, and the pets. Tumble must have been put down recently... I hope Paige is handling it well. She sent me a little note today; apparently, she is suffering from the altitude. Poor girl. I think I'll have my picture of Tumble framed, or maybe have Chrissy do some artistic wavy sketch for me also to keep. He was a good perverted old cat, my little Greek Love God.

Who is Yuliya? Should I ask about her? I'm a little nervous to do so.

This apartment is neat but grungy. Yesterday, I cleaned the kitchen a little. Zhora says that he doesn't own a broom or a vacuum. Perhaps I will find a way to secure these for him, at least to borrow. Who drives a BMW and doesn't own a broom? What a strange little fellow. His credit must be in bad shape, poor dude.

Found some music yesterday from Zhora's computer, on my usual internet rounds. I haven't made a mix CD in a couple weeks; I'm feeling too strange to be inspired -- anything I put together now wouldn't be very coherent. I've been falling asleep to Russian trance music and making love to Depeche Mode. Totally messed!

I should probably shower pretty soon. I was smarter last night than the night before, and I have some make-up, although my complexion is actually doing comparatively well today. I haven't seen or heard Igor or Oxana around this place yet, nor did I notice them yesterday. The days dissolve away while I'm here, and I'm a little lonely. It's good, though -- I have time to think, and I never have enough time to think when I'm with Zhora. I'm intimidated beyond belief; he's like a precipice, a giant crag -- my stomach drops into my toes whenever he opens his sad eyes from sleep.

There's so much to know about him, and he is not giving me much to learn from or judge.

I don't think Zhora has made an attempt to read the letters I wrote to him while in Canada -- or, if he has, he hasn't said anything, made no topical mention of the events.

Maybe I'll have a solo dance party, and then take a shower. There's nothing to eat in this house but popcorn and freezer-burned chicken breast. I'll bet I can find some orange juice, though -- that will suit me fine, until I can get home and take my hip little happy pills.

I'm going to Chicago this weekend to see Alyssa. Chrissy and Vtalik are coming with -- Zhora may be going separately to attend to some business. I miss Alyssa, the little angel. I told Chrissy last night that I feel like a little lap dog in Alyssa's presence; it would be nice to be her pet. She is transparently kind and good-natured, and has matured into a very patient and rational person, from what I can tell, although she is still a very warm individual, and capable of a sizeable empathy.


At a bar, drinking coffee?

The way that Zhora drinks beer, when he drinks, is funny and attractive. He takes little violent gulps, and his Adam's apple bobs exactly two times, and then he'll wait about ten minutes before taking another drink. He always stands up to drink, and the bottle is always tilted at the same angle. Strange cute fellow!

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