Men! I swear, they will be the end of me. What do I have to do to become a nun? I have no idea if Ronan is coming here tomorrow. I don't even know if we're still together. I have no idea what's going on.

I have managed to do a couple of loads of laundry, though, which is helping me along with my goal of packing. I can't believe how much crap I have. I can't believe how soon I am leaving. I keep thinking of all the things I didn't do during my time here in Belfast. I hate feeling that way. I am trying to see the positive, though, in that, while I may not have seen all the touristy things, I have gotten a feel for Belfast that not many people from outside of here get.

Okay, here's a hint for anyone who doesn't know me so well. If you want to get on my bad side, call me psycho. Or crazy or schizo or any variation of the sort. This is a good way to ensure me getting pissed at you. And I won't forget it, either. You see, back in the day, way back in the early 90s, before the Internet, before Mars exploration, even before Justin Timberlake, I was just a normal teenager going about my life with my nice little high school boyfriend. Yes, we were known as a couple back in those days b/c our relationship was practically life long when measured in high school years. Given our inexperience in romantic relationships, we made a lot of bad decisions in our dealings with one another. For example, to win arguments, we would completely break down the other person by twisting the knife where we knew it would hurt most. Now for me, this was a few things, but one of them was crazy, or overemotional, or irrational, or whatever. Now go a little further into my teenage life and you will see the big black hole known as the attack. Now, the attack led to a police investigation and a grand jury hearing. Statements were taken, questions were asked, witnesses were called. Something like this does not stay a secret long in high school land. Especially when witnesses are fellow classmates and you have to turn in your subpoena to the attendance office as your excuse note for why you missed class. There are two ways this helped lead to my psycho complex. 1.) The attacker said I was lying. His defense was based on my being irrational, crazy, overemotional. 2.) When word got out, there were those in school who believed I was lying, and then called me psycho. Oh wait, there's a third. 3.) When I had trouble dealing with the fact that I had been attacked, my sweet high school boyfriend believed I was overreacting and said, "It's been two weeks, you should be over it."

Why am I bringing this up now, you ask? Ronan phoned me today and said that his friends believed I was a psychopath and that if they were him, they would not get near me with a ten foot pole.

Yes, honey, my day was fine, how was yours?