I'm going dog sitting this weekend, for a neighboor of my folks. It means Dexter will get some much needed time at home alone. He's having a party that I may come to, if only to insure that my Hasselblad doesn't get stolen, or my methadone. He wants me to. I don't konw what I want. Read the last entry if you are interested in my feelings about the end of my relationship. It's a decent entry, at least, it's how I feel. I can't tell D all of it. It makes me want to die. 'we're so very precious, you and I. and everything you do makes me want to die. oh i just told the biggest lie.' I'm tired. That's the one difference between Marinol and pot, grass brings me way down. Pretty sedating, while marinol isn't. I prefer the pharmaceuticals, but this is ok. And I can set three people up as primary caregivers for me, which means they can get cards and buy it at the clubs too. That's good for my brother. I'll set him up. I don't know if I'll take the risk of more than that. I don't want to get arrested, and this thing keeps me pretty safe in San Francisco county.