Stuff I've dug up.
Here's an excerpt from a diary entry I wrote on today's date seven years ago. I was 22.
Of all the unwelcome surprises Orange has sprung on me--the breaches in fidelity, the (probably ongoing) fling with cocaine, the utterly repugnant debasement of my Arkansas bed with my parents' house-sitter--none has been more unwelcome than his hastily planned and apparently extremely imminent relocation to this city. I can't think of much that I could desire less. He must positively exult in torturing me. I can think of no other possible explanation for why he would want to do this to me--and I do consider his move something done to me and not something done for his own sake because there is absolutely no reason why Chicago should be the city cursed to have his foul visage haunting its dark streets, save for his obvious goal to drive me mad.