I shot the best golf game of my life today, and I broke up with Sarah. Both events leave me feeling extremely vacant.

In her farewell note, Sarah writes:

"You'll spend the rest of your life chained to a computer and not caring about anyone and not letting anyone care about you. You are SAD and PATHETIC…

"I feel sorry for you, I really do, even more so than I do for myself. I'll find another place to live, you'll always be profoundly, deeply, truly, alone. And knowing you, that won't even matter. What happened to make you so dead inside? Can no one touch you?"

Everything she says is true. And I'm busy getting extremely drunk.

But Sarah does say one thing I want to argue with: "I love you — fuck you for not caring about that." I do care about that, and could not be more sorry; I love you too, I just can't be in a relationship with you. Someday I hope that makes sense to you.

As to my best round of golf ever: an 87 at Reston National. Two triple-bogies to finish; my score could have been a lot better.

Hello, world. I'm alone again, naturally.