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Are you just waiting for the "right one" to make sure your numbers don't go up? Technically, I'm still married, so it just feels weird. actually, I think I'm just waiting to stop judging myself for wanting to be with someone else.

That might help me feel less weird about the whole thing.

Indeed, while there are so many things to love about L.

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I guess I judge the idea of doing what I want to do.

Well, I sleep with him because I don't want to have another person under my belt!

Julian is willing to be peed on, provided it’s in a tub. She’s used the actual screens Warhol used in his prints—there’s Marilyn, there are flowers. That’s the point, I suppose, that Stella’s work, anyone’s work, could be made as well by anyone. I’m giving the show a lazy read, but it’s because I’m scared of Los Angeles. I’m staying with a friend who’s getting his MFA at USC. I go back to his apartment, and because he’s at class I jerk off in the bathroom, quick and sticky, my middle finger applying firm pressure to my clit the way I’ve done since I was twelve.

As I write this, there’s a retrospective of the artist Elaine Sturtevant at the Museum of Contemporary Art in L. It consists entirely of copies of works by her contemporaries, almost all male artists, the names a 60’s circle-jerk of relevancy: Warhol, Haring, Duchamp, Oldenburg, Gonzalez-Torres. I walk through vertiginous hangs of Lichtenstein crowded next to Haring next to Johns and my only rational thought is, so what. I leave and walk around downtown, thinking about how my friend Kris told me rats live in the palm trees.

I'm guessing you miss him if you're still sleeping with him?