This is my site. It's not yours. If it was yours, I probably wouldn't be writing in it. Or at least not as much. And you'd probably be the protagonist, not me.

This site contains no nudity. You should be grateful for that, after seeing how many home movies I have here. This site does, however, contain a fair amount of profanity, especially the blog entries. I could go back and change everything to give the site a more family-friendly rating but I don't fucking want to.

So, if you're under 18 years old, then you should leave this site, and get off my lawn. If you're an adult, yet some kind of pansy who's offended by adult language in a personal blog, it would probably be a good idea for you to leave also.

If you're too horrified to look away, however, I invite you to stick around and see what my little corner of the Internet has to offer.

I've been saying the same thing now for a long time.

The first time I remember saying it was last November or December, in a text message to HatGirl.

Though I probably felt it a million times before then. And definitely a million times since.

I want this to be over. More than I've ever wanted anything else.

Yes, even more than that.

That was a beautiful dream. That was my reason for living. But that has turned into a terrible nightmare. But that has soured me on way too many things. That has made me doubt way too many things, question way too many things. Scary questions, that lead to even scarier answers.

I want to wake up. I want to I want to I want to I want to wake up from this nightmare.

I repeat myself a lot. With my words. With my thoughts. With this journal.

I usually realize that I'm repeating myself when I'm about half through repeating myself. And, I figure, as long as I'm that far along, I may as well push on through and get it over with.

Anyway.

I want something. Maybe even need something.

There's this nagging emptiness following me around everywhere I go. I can't seem to escape it, except sometimes when I sleep and my dreams take me somewhere else. Some place where none of this matters. And where the emptiness can't find me.

I don't know what I want. I don't know if I want it or need it. Most disturbingly, I don't even know what it is.

That up there - that's a fine example of me repeating myself. For more examples, see almost every entry I've done for the past year and a half.

Anyway.

That's what I miss, maybe most of all or at least in the top five things I miss. That sense of knowing exactly what I needed and knowing that I absolutely needed it. My life may have been replete with confusion and doubt but, by fuck, there was always that one thing that I knew beyond any shadow of any inkling of any doubt.

Now?

Not so much.

To repeat myself again, I miss me. It's been a long time since I've seen myself, talked to myself, commiserated with myself.

It's been so long, in fact, that I'm not even sure that I'd recognize myself.

I wrote back in February 2005:

I'm more than a little ashamed of what happened to me, and more than a little sorry for feelings I've hurt and concern I've caused, but more than that, I'm amazed at how quickly the person I was evaporated. I'd have never believed that anything could affect me so strongly. Could essentially erase everything I was and turn me into this amorphous thing I see when I look into the mirror.

And I'm still repeating myself.

I've got to do something about this schedule I've been keeping. It's just not working. By the time the weekend comes around, I don't want to do anything but sleep for 48 hours. And that's even going to bed early, sometimes as early as 8:00 PM, on weeknights.

It's not like I'm really missing anything by going to bed so early, but it could happen, maybe. That thought nags at me when I go to bed and turn off the sounds on my phone.

There are things I like about getting up at 5:00 AM. First, I like that I don't feel rushed at all. I could probably sleep until 7:30 most mornings, but then I'd have to rush getting showered and shaved and dressed and out the door. I'd have to hope that there were no traffic problems, and then I'd have to go straight in to work as soon as I arrived.

Taking my time is much better. I leave my house by 7:00. Only very rarely is traffic bad enough to make me worry about being late. I get to work between 7:30 and 8:00, and I sit in the parking lot for a while. It's my favorite part of the day, that time before I go into the building.

But, I've been thinking, if I want to leave my house by 7:00, I could sleep until 6:30 and still manage that feat. Getting up at 5:00 gives me time to relax before I have to start getting ready for work, but lately I've been thinking that those extra 90 minutes would serve me better if they were tacked on to the end of the day instead of first thing in the morning.

I'll keep you all posted. Try not to fall off the edge of your seats.

I'm trying to be reasonable now. It's tough going, because it's totally unfamiliar territory for me. But I am trying.

It's just so hard, so incredibly hard to separate the reasonable emotions from the unreasonable kind. To throw the latter away and deal with the former in a semi-mature manner.

Earlier tonight - about four hours ago - would have been a much better time for me to write this entry. Earlier tonight, I was much closer to the place I want to be. A shitty place, but a place I know I can endure because I've endured for so long already.

Now, four hours later, not so much.

The thing is, I haven't been exaggerating about any of this. In fact, I've toned things down a lot. Because the truth unbelieved is often worse than a lie. Because the truth stands all alone. Because the truth hurts.

And, now, it's happening all over again. And so, now, I wipe the spit from my face and I wait, all over again.

Wait for what?

I don't know. I used to know, I really did.

Now, six months later, not so much.

I do know it's more than just inertia that makes me wait again. And I know it's more than just stubbornness. And it's still a fuck of a lot more than a crush, no matter how ready people still seem to be to label it as such.

Hope?

I don't think so. Hope needs a target, and there isn't one that I can detect.

The comparison has been made a million times. The challenge. But the simple facts are that A does not equal B, and B does not equal A.

Not even close.

I wish I knew the magic words, to make my dreams come true.

Also, I wish I still had dreams.

For like the last two weeks, I've kept my bedroom door closed. This is because when Buddy sees a pile of laundry he pees on it.

So my laundry piles have remained pee-free.

Then this morning I took a load out of the dryer, put it in the laundry basket, and took it to my room. I set the laundry basket on my bed to take the clothes out.

Buddy had peed on the floor of my laundry room, and it had gotten all over the bottom of the laundry basket, so I'd unwittingly transferred that pee to my bedspread.

So now today I have to go buy a new bedspread. One that's neither gay nor soaked in cat pee.

Grrr.

I forgot that I'm supposed to write something every day.

Today, I thought I'd ask the world two questions that have been bugging me.

Why is it that big fat hogs have to slowly walk down the middle of the hallway and block me from walking at a normal pace? Why can't they walk more off to the side?

Well, this should be interesting. And brief. Or maybe just brief.

My brain is infused with hardening cement right now, so my fingers will have to come up with a blog entry all on their own.

Anyway.

I had this thought last night. Just a random thought like millions of others that have popped into my head over the years. Preventing sleep. Unleashing dozens or hundreds of linked thoughts to tumble and crash.

What if I had a choice?

That was the thought. Six simple words, but six words strung together in a sequence that they'd somehow managed to elude for a very very very long time.

Just a simple question, really. But not to me. And, and the answers...

I can't stop thinking about the question I asked or answers that I almost immediately, reflexively, instinctively, gave last night, as I toed the line between awake and asleep.

Someone else, I answered.

Anyone else, I continued.

And, even more surprising and unexpected than the answers, was the fact that the question could exist in the first place.

Everything has changed now, mostly because I asked, but also because I answered the way that I did.

This won't last. Only one thing ever lasts.

Wow. I wrote this in April of 2007. I don't remember why, but I was in a crappy mood. Oh, wait. I think I remember why now.

Somebody once said that if you don't have anything nice to say, then you shouldn't say anything. Or some crap like that.

I'd bet that if bloggers took that advice to heart, then there'd be no bloggers.

Anyway, today I'm pissed. At pretty much the entire world.

I think I just get tired of hearing the same bullshit over and over, only to see it contradicted just as fiercely via actions and inactions.

Those two things speak louder than words. Actually, words don't speak at all. They mean nothing. They are hollow.

This is why I've given up. Because I've stopped listening to you people out there. Telling me how great I am, then turning your noses up at me when I show some emotion you don't agree with or understand. Offering comfort, but only so you'll feel less uneasy around me. Spouting advice, when you haven't a fucking clue as to what's happened to me.

It's all so fucking convenient, to seek my friendship when you need it. I'm always there. Where else would I go? But let me fucking need you, and you scatter like cockroaches in the middle of the night when the light is suddenly turned on. Because I don't fit into your mold. Because suddenly I'm the needy one. You reject the reality of the situation. You reject the truth. You reject me.

Today, I'm pissed. At pretty much the entire world.

A million years or so ago, I used to have my very own muse. Heck, she even kept being my muse for a couple of years after she stopped being my girlfriend. She'd call me or, more often, visit my site, around 11:00 PM each night. She'd see if I'd written anything new that day. And, if I hadn't, well she'd make damn sure that I didn't go to bed until I had written something.

Sigh.

I miss her. I miss her for lots of reasons. Not just because she was my muse. I guess she's doing okay. I haven't talked to her in at least 9 months. Weird how things change.

Today has been a very long day. I think I started yawning around 11:00 AM, and I haven't really stopped since. And I don't mean that I've yawned several times - I mean that I've let out one long yawn, for almost 10 hours now. I know that I'm tired. I only slept for 4 hours last night. But it might be something else. Something more. I kinda feel like my Fall seasonal allergies might be starting up. If so, then they're about a month early.

Last Fall, my allergies were so bad that my nose started bleeding from all the wiping and nose-blowing I did. There was a steady stream of snot and blood flowing from my face. Yes, it was gross, thanks for asking.

Meanwhile, I continue to wait for that killing blow. It hasn't come. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm ashamed to say that I'm more than a little bit fooled by what's been going on.

Stupid hope...

I'm so tired right now. I need to go to bed.

Tomorrow I've got a thingy to attend. There might be some people from my old job there. That would be cool. Most of those people, I'd love to see again. A couple of them could drop dead on the way to the thingy and I wouldn't bat an eye. I guess I'll see what I'll see. I probably won't be bored, that's for sure.

In less than two weeks I'll be in Las Vegas again. It'll be different, this time. I don't really think there's a reason to go. Not anymore. Problem is, there's never really been a reason to stay in Indiana, either.

I guess that's it. Maybe I'll have a beer and then glare at my phone for a while before I go to bed.

Here's the most boring guy in the world, talking about the end of the world.