This entry brought to you by:

New Albanian Jasmine the Mastiff (10)

(draft) Black with a decent tan head. Strong aroma of roasted malt and a touch of chocolate. Flavor is like the aroma. Mostly roasted malt with a touch of chocolate. And no hop bitterness! Yay! I really like this beer, so I'll probably never see it again once this batch is gone. I'd better drink up while I can.

I would have had more, but this was after work and my stomach was empty.

Today, StalkerGirl completed my game of 20-questions. She got it right at number 20. So, yay for StalkerGirl!

Meanwhile, RockGirl continues to toil. I lost track of the number of questions she's had after 8,000,000 or so. Actually, I'm pretty sure she's just been fucking with me.

Anyway, now I have to get cryptic.

One of my more self-destructive habits, mentally destructive I mean, is that I tend to obsess over whatever I figure is the worst thing that could possibly happen. And then I start playing some horrible scenario over and over in my head until, in theory at least, I become immune to it. Or at least less susceptible to its harmful effects.

That's the theory.

It even worked. Once.

I used to obsess about this one terrible thing. I'd write about it and I'd talk about it and I'd even joke about it sometimes, and then, when it actually happened, I was surprisingly okay with it. Not really okay per se, but I never did implode or explode the way I'd have thought I would. I think my biggest problem was wondering when and/or if I would realize the horror of the situation and then collapse into a spreading pool of misery and self-pity.

But it never happened. So that was cool, I guess. Though sometimes I think that it might have been nice to have felt something.

Now, now I've found myself a new obsession. Once that's admittedly even less likely than the last one. Less likely, perhaps, but a million times more terrible should it ever happen.

And this scenario, I can't talk about it. I certainly can't fucking joke about it. I did try writing about it. Once, in an email. It was completely ignored.

A while back I wrote an entry about something terrible. For a few days I was sure that this would be the worst thing that could happen. But I realized that I was wrong. It wouldn't even be close to the worst thing. Nope, the worst thing is something that I can't even bring myself to imagine with any semblance of detail.

So, in the unlikely event that it ever does happen, I'll be woefully unprepared.

Great, now I'm in a shitty mood. Way to go, Dave. You dipshit.