((On a page torn from the wrong journal, taped into the personal one after the fact))
I had my life set up so neatly - everything carefully sorted into its own drawer with a separate key. And now this!  Not enough that I had to put it in the drawer I was leaving empty on purpose - it won't stay there; it wants to get all over the whole damned cabinet. 

I did not ask for this!  I wanted a chess game, not - ducks' nests and grandmothers' quilts and feeling responsible for babysitting little sisters and hearing "I trust you" without thinking the speaker is a poor deluded fool.  How did I even let this happen?

Stupid!

It wouldn't be a problem if things would just stay neat and distant, but I've gone and become truly fond of him, making promises that I would actually feel bad about if I broke - honestly, I had outgrown this!  I have been acting, in his presence, as Marie-Pierre, not as one of the several Ducloses there are to choose from; which sounds, I am sure, wonderfully sweet and romantic, but which is in practice a distinct disability.  It is a sign of my own weakness that I cannot bring myself to put an end to it.

I cannot even bring myself to want to try.

I let him call me cheese!