You know what?
I have absolutely nothing left to say.
I've said it all. Over and over and over, I've dissected myself.
My words were wasted.
You know what?
I have absolutely nothing left to say.
I've said it all. Over and over and over, I've dissected myself.
My words were wasted.
As I'm clearly unfit for the world, and as the world is clearly unfit for me, tonight I'm just going to stay home and drink some fucking pumpkin beer. I was saving this, but oh well.
(bottle) Clear medium amber in color. Small head. Aroma of pumpkin and spices. The flavor was more spicy and metallic than I was expecting. There was also some hop bitterness that I didn't care for at all. Decent is all I can say.I can see it in my face, when I dare to look into the mirror. My eyes, they're so tired, so sad. And there is no real escape, even far away from any mirror. Escape exists in a pair of hazel eyes, and nowhere else. The rest of the time, this permeates my bones and my muscles and my heart. I can feel it, right now, weighing me down. Pulling me under. It's more a part of me than anything else. It's who I am, now. It's what I am, now.
I used to think that I knew how this would end. Not that it would end, I'm not quite that much of a pessimist. Yet. But if it ended, I thought I knew how and why. I was so sure. It was going to be all my fault, but I wouldn't be the one to end it.
(bottle) Clear copper in color. Small head that dissipated almost immediately. A very nice aroma of cinnamon and other spices. Medium mouthfeel. Very good flavor of all sorts of spices and, of course, pumpkin. The 8% ABV is hidden very well. A very good beer.I watch this destroy her, and I feel it destroy us. There's nothing I can do. I've already tried my best, and it wasn't enough. My words may as well have been silent. My face invisible. My heart irrelevant.
Lately, though, I haven't been so sure. Maybe it won't be her. Maybe it'll be me who recognizes and does what needs to be done. Walks away. I hope not. There's nowhere to go.
(bottle) Slightly hazy amber. Smallish head. Aroma of pumpkin and spices. Thin mouthfeel, but the flavor is very good. There's a bit of a bite - not bitter - that is a pleasant surprise. Very good.But can I ever be happy, being so close and yet so far? I honestly don't know the answer to that question. All I know is that I want to try. With everything that I am and everything I ever will be, I want to try. I don't ever want to give up.
So many people advised me to lie to her. To keep living my lie of omission. "Don't tell her everything," they said. "Just be happy with what you have," they said. "Don't rock the boat," they said.
But the damn boat was already sinking. So I sounded the alarm. I stopped lying.
And then, yesterday, she said that nobody ever says what's on their mind, except for me. I took that as a compliment.
She keeps using the f-word to describe what we're doing. But I don't think of it that way at all. It's not a friendship, at least not from my perspective.
Nope, from where I sit, it's a one-sided love affair.
A million times better than a friendship, and a million times worse.
Considering how I started missing her before I'd made it halfway out of her parking lot last night, of course I wanted to go back later and see her some more. But, considering how I actually started missing her before I'd gone three steps out of her door, I didn't think it would be a good idea.
Yesterday the only beer I had was about half a Schlenkerla Marzen (6016) at 1:00 or so. I have some pumpkin beers in my fridge, but I'm saving those for something.
This was funny in real life. Not mean at all.
The problem was the dust. It got into everything, onto everything. The color of brown sugar, the consistency of baby powder, it settled and stuck to everything it touched, Which, like I said, was everything.
So many of my stories begin and end the same way. I sit at the bar, I drink, I pay, and I leave. But sometimes there's more to it than that. Hiding in the crevices, there might be much more than that. The first problem is noticing. The second problem is giving a shit.
But seriously, where did all that fucking dust come from? I think I'd have noticed getting so lost in Wyoming that I ended up on Mars.
My beer tasted like dust. My cigarettes tasted like dust. Luckily, I wasn't hungry, or I'd have ended up with a burger that tasted like dust.
This particular day, I wasn't in much of a hurry. I had a week to make it to New Orleans, and I figured it would only take a couple more days at most. So I decided to stop at noon, in this little dustbowl of a town in Wyoming. There was no particular reason that I picked that particular town. No charming name or majestic scenery caused me to veer off the highway where I did. Or, I think that maybe I just had to pee. I wish I had a better reason, but sometimes you've got to take what you've got and try to be happy.
I liked that little town, though. And that little bar. It was pretty much the opposite of every place I'd ever lived, and that had a definite appeal to me. I could even see myself living there for a while, if the opportunity presented itself, and if it wasn't for that damn dust.
"After I lived here about five years, I stopped noticing it," the bartender told me.
He had a little black nametag pinned to his brown flannel shirt. That nametag might have been the most expensive decoration in the entire place.
"Dusty," it said.
So she asked me if I was mad. I'm not mad, I'm retarded. Big Difference.
And then, I went to lunch at The Pub - Newcastle (11498) - and surprise! It was a bonus AlliDay!
And then, desperately craving interaction with a girl who doesn't make me crazy(er), I arranged to have lunch with HatGirl this Friday. That should be very nice, as it's been a long time since it's just been just me and HatGirl. What with the whole her-getting-married and stuff.
Also, I can't follow my own fucking advice, so why should it bother me that nobody else follows it? I'll tell you why. Because I don't have a choice in the matter.
I've got all this damn pumpkin beer in my fridge, and now I don't know what's going to happen with it. Worst case would be that I'll drink it, I suppose. By myself. Like a chump.
Also, I think I'd be pretty pissed if I were a pigeon. I mean, being able to fly would be cool. But the rat with wings nickname would get old very quickly, and I'd really be pissed off about not being able to take a step without my head jerking back and forth like I was having a seizure or something.
Also, I really and truly don't think there's any cruelty behind any of this. I don't think my strings are being yanked just to watch me dance. Unfortunately for me, the results are exactly the same no matter what the intentions might be. I end up looking like a jackass, and everyone gets a good laugh out of it. Everybody except me, that is.
I need a nap.
And a vacation. Mustn't forget that.
Today I had what I thought was a pretty good idea for an entry. I even started to write it, in my little notebook while I sat at Sportstime waiting for my sister to call. But then some loud idiots took the booth next to me, and all concentration was lost.
I still know the gist of what I wanted to write, but there's a problem. I wanted to write about being in a weird mood, but I have to be in a weird mood to write about it coherently. A weird mood like I was in today, at about 1:00.
Now, not so much.
The thing is, about the weird moods that I get into, the thing is that there's always an element of detachment about them. I know I've touched on this before.
Like everyone else, I get sad, I get happy, I get worried, I get optimistic. Just normal shit, I suppose. But the thing I like about my weird moods is that I can notice my feelings, and even reflect on them for a while. They don't overwhelm me, the way that they are so wont to do.
I like that. I find myself very interesting, I guess.
Somebody has to do it.
Man, I was in a mood when I wrote this. Go read it. I'll wait.
I happened across that entry this afternoon, looking for something else entirely. But that old and irrelevant entry made me wonder.
With all this groping around that I'm doing, what if I found that broken handle for that broken switch?
Would I try to make repairs, so that I could switch it off again?
It's an interesting question, certainly, but the answer is indistinct to me.
Maybe if I'd open my damn eyes, I could see more clearly.
Another repost, again from about three years ago. I think I'd have written something like this today, if I hadn't already written it.
Being the type of person that I am, I don't seem to be capable of having an idea and simply letting it solidify on its own.I think the thing about this time around, the thing that makes this period of silence vastly different than the last one, is that this time I know it won't last.
Nope, once something begins to form in my head, I'll obsess over it until I have it properly defined and categorized. If I can't do that then I'll at least come up with a metaphor for it.
I've read that when Titanic was struck, a lot of the passengers gathered up on deck to see what had happened. Some of them reported hearing a noise, but they couldn't describe what the noise was. It turns out, or so I've read anyway, that they hadn't heard anything at all. The sound that they thought they'd heard was actually the silence that fell upon them when the engines were shut down.
They'd simply noticed that something was different, but they didn't know what.
And that, my dear readers, is probably as close as I'm going to get to what I've been feeling lately.
I've noticed a change in the noise level within me. Something LOUD, I think, has either gone silent or is at least running more quietly than it has in a long time.
What does it mean? I don't know, but I have my suspicions.
I'm going to enjoy it while I can, though. Maybe catch up on my sleep.
Sometimes, you slam your eyes shut. As quickly as you can, but not quickly enough.
It's too late. You've already seen the truth. And that truth, it burns itself into you. It sets up residence in your soul.
And it eats away at everything. It devours everything. Nothing is safe.
Eyes squeezed shut, you frantically grope the darkness, looking for something, anything.
But there's nothing to find. There's nothing left. It's all gone.
Devoured by the truth.
I'm not really sure what I was expecting at the reception, I just know that it wasn't what I found.
I think maybe I thought there'd be more of HatGirl's and LuckyFucker's friends there. But it seemed, to me at least, to be about 99% family members. Not that there was anything wrong with that, or that it was a bad thing. It just wasn't what I was expecting. I guess I'd figured that NotHideousGirl would at least show up, and so I'd have somebody to talk to.
Anyway, I arrived pretty much right on time. The guests were gathered out on the lawn of the place. I'd seen HatGirl and LuckyFucker waiting around the side of the building, but when I tried to go say hello I was shooed away. Apparently there was an agenda for the thing, and that agenda did not include guys from the bar talking to the happy couple before the scheduled time. Not even guys as awesome as me.
So, I waited on the lawn with everyone else, like a chump. Eventually, the bridal party had a little parade, and they ended up on the steps where they had this candle ceremony. Then they had another parade, except all of us guests followed them this time.
The bridal party stood at the back door and greeted all of us guests. So I finally got to say hi to HatGirl.
Oh yeah, LuckyFucker was there, too.
And I think that was just about the last time I saw either of them, except as blurs, until it was time to leave.
I never did get to have that dance with HatGirl. It was weird. It seemed to me like the DJ took off running down the sidewalk about a minute into the first song. I have no idea what that was all about.
Oh, I almost forgot! I caught the garter!
Apparently, that means that I'll be the next guy to get married. And this one four-year-old girl caught the bouquet, so she'll be the next girl to get married.
Should be an interesting race.
This is a repost from three years ago. I like knowing that I used to be able write this kind of drivel.
When you live your life in total darkness, it doesn't take much.Damn, I just noticed that I already reposted this entry, this past July. Oh well, can't be helped. Google's got it in its grasp now.
The smallest spark, the slightest flash of light, can capture your full attention. Even after it's gone, the memory of that flash lives on.
Sometimes that flash is welcomed, but most times, most times it's only reminding you of what's missing.
A man gone blind does not always wish for sight, for there can be comfort in the dark.
Acceptance. Tranquility. Peace. All erased by a spark, a glimmer, a splash of light that does nothing but burn the retinas and leave ghost images floating and intruding.
A flash is nothing by itself. It's over in an instant. But the memory of it lingers, and the blind man sometimes wishes he could forget.
I didn't really get much accomplished yesterday. I went to Home Depot to get some lumber for my swing but, while I was there, I kinda lost all motivation for everything. So I just came back home and shot pool for a while.
Then at 3:00 I went to Bearno's for something to eat and a couple glasses of Newcastle (11456). For a while, I was the only customer in the entire place. That was perfectly fine with me.
Traded a few emails with her, and that put me back into a good mood until the subject changed. Then my mood deteriorated very quickly. I said some things that were unwelcome, I'm sure. But, like I keep telling myself, if I'm going to ruin this, as least it will be with the truth. Sometimes I wonder if the two of us are strong enough to hold something this lopsided together. Or if she thinks that it's worth the effort.
Later I went and picked up this Blue Moon Pumpkin Ale (24), which was new for me.
Blue Moon Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale
(bottle) Clear light amber. Large whitish head. Not much of an aroma or flavor with this one. Everything was very subtle - too subtle. I don't think I'll bother with this again. Decent is all I can say.So that was a bit of a disappointment.
Anyway, other than having a couple bottles of that beer, and watching some movies, I had a nice phone call that I don't think I want to write about here. I went to bed fairly early and slept for 10 hours.
Today is HatGirl's wedding reception. As was expected, I will be going alone. But it should still be fun to see HatGirl in her wedding dress. I hope she remembers that she was supposed to learn how to dance, so she can give me a quick lesson before I dance with her for real.
I suppose that a brief beer report is in order. I did, after all, go to Rich O's last night. I bet I could count on one hand the number of times I've been in there, on a weekend night, in the last three months.
Anyway, I wasn't planning to go, but my sister called to say that she and her husband were there. So I went.
It was extremely crowded and LOUD. I ended up standing by the bar,
talking yelling with Dina and Kenny. I had two and a half glasses of Marzen (5902). By the time Dina and Kenny left, my mood was shot to shit. I tried to hang out for a little bit longer, but there was no sense in it. I came home around 10:00.
Last week I was going to buy some wood to start repairs on my swing. But while I was cutting some rope, I ended up slicing my finger instead. Today, my plan is to go and finally buy that wood. I'll probably manage to amputate my leg somehow.
Have you ever stepped outside of yourself for a while, and then looked back, and wondered why you would ever want to return?
Have you ever wanted, with all of your heart, to just give up, but known that you didn't have the strength?
Have you ever had someone tell you the most asinine thing you've ever heard, and made you think that you don't matter at all?
Have you ever want to quit, everything?
Have you ever given everything you are to an idea that only you thought of?
Have you ever been invisible?
Have you ever wondered how much of your life is simple inertia, and how much is real?
Have you ever wasted your time?
Have you ever wanted to turn back the clock, or the calendar?
Have you ever loathed yourself, and not known the reason?
Have you ever realized the truth, and wished with every ounce of your being that it was a lie?
Have you ever been in love?
The last time we went to this hippie place for lunch, it was a huge surprise. The having lunch together part, not so much the hippie place part. This time, it was still a surprise, just maybe not as big, because this time, I'd invited her to lunch.
Another surprise was getting the shit beaten out of me by a two-year-old.
The food was decent. The company was extraordinary. Even the two-year-old.
Can't write about this until later, but I'm mildly freaked out.
Okay, so today after I ate lunch I was on the upper level at Fourth Street Live, where NotHideousGirl and I used to sit and smoke after lunch. I wasn't sitting today, but I was smoking. I was also watching people, like I usually do.
You know how you can recognize your own car, even if you see just a tiny portion of it? Like when you leave a store, and the parking lot is packed, and you don't quite remember where you parked? But you can look across the parking lot and see maybe a flash of fender or something, and you immediately know it's your car?
Yeah, well today I was watching people walking up and down Fourth Street, and I saw out of the corner of my eye a glimpse of blonde hair. I saw that hair, and I immediately knew who it was.
She was walking into T.G.I. Friday's just like she did it every day. Just like she hadn't moved a million miles away. Just like she had every right to be there.
She was with some dude. I assumed this was her new husband. I didn't actually see any dicks in his mouth, because I was pretty far away, but I'm sure they were in there somewhere.
I absolutely froze. I had no idea what to do. I was pulled equally between running away from her and running toward her. So, like I said, I froze. My legs simply would not move. But I somehow managed to get my arms and hands to work, so I emailed RockGirl that I might be dying, and then I called MixedSignalGirl.
I really had no idea what I was going to say. I guess I figured I'd just wing it. I got her voicemail, stammered out that I'd been thinking about her, and hung up.
And so began the wait.
Just got off the phone with her. Everything is fine - I'd been concerned that her mom might be sick. It's just a regular visit.
I hadn't wanted to write anything here until I'd talked to her. I didn't want her to read here that I'd seen her and hadn't immediately run down to say hello. Of course I told her about that on the phone, though.
It's all good.
I doubt that we'll see each other or even talk again while she's here. Not unless her husband wants to spend an evening at a gay bar or something, thus giving her some time to kill.
Happy birthday to my youngest sister, Neisha!
See, I am capable of remembering some things.
What a crappy day Monday was. I'm glad it's over, but I can't really say I have any expectations that Tuesday will be any better.
Fuck, I hate being so dependent on, and reactionary to, outside stimuli.
Also, I managed to tear the cut on my finger open tonight. So that's another pint of blood I'll never get back.
I was going to write an entry about my fun Saturday, but instead I decided to slice my finger to the bone. And now I can't type very well at all. So, for now at least, you people will be spared.
It was a really good day, though.
Maybe a picture can be worth a thousand words.
For a second or so, there was something. An accidental touch. Not a lie but a mistake.
I think she forgot who I was, and in doing so, made me forget who I was.
Then she remembered, and jerked her hand away, and in doing so, made me remember.
For a second or so, I was somebody else. It was nice.
When I go to the internet and find the chord progression for a song, and it's listed as an easy lesson, or as a beginner's lesson, and it's got a change from a C to a G. And then back again.
Or if there's an F anywhere in the song.
Because that shit's not easy at all.
So fuck you, internet guitar people.
I guess today kind of sucked. I don't think it was really a bad day, but compared to Thursday, it sucked. As would most days, compared to Thursday.
This chick who looks disconcertingly like MixedSignalGirl was working at The Pub, after having been fired for the last month or so. Plus, she insisted on talking to me the entire time I was there trying to enjoy my Newcastle (11280). So I was in a pretty shitty mood from about 12:00 on, then after work I had a couple of weird dreams. One was a sad dream, and another was very frustrating and confusing. So I woke up from my nap in a even worse mood than before.
For a while, there seemed to be a .0000000001% chance that my day might end really well, but instead I sat here at home, had a Rogue Chocolate Stout (2669) and a Barley Island Dirty Helen (436), glared at my phone, and wished for about the asstillionth time that things were different.
Also, it turns out that I don't need to feed HatGirl's critters on Sunday, as had been planned. That's the good news, I think. The bad news, I think, is that I need to go to the airport at 11:50 Saturday night to pick her and LuckyFucker up.
It will be really nice to see HatGirl again, but my grand plans for drinking beer and glaring my phone tomorrow night are shot to shit.
I had a really good day today.
Now, this little voice in my head tells me that I'm not supposed to be saying that, but fuck it. I keep censoring myself and censoring myself and censoring myself, and then every now and then I'll have a really crappy day. And, when that happens, I sometimes let my mood slip into this blog.
Well, today, I had a good day. And I'm in a very good mood. And I shouldn't be afraid to write about those facts. There are, after all, no more secrets between me and her, and I should stop acting like there are.
Look, this bullshit I use instead of a life isn't a very good one. I do still hate myself, after all. And most of the time, I feel like I'm drowning, and I'm not sure why I'm bothering to struggle.
But every now and then, like today, I find air. When that happens, I get to breathe for a while.
Times like this, times like today, I remember why I struggle. It's because of the joy that I am somehow, miraculously, still able to feel, when I breathe that sweet, sweet air.
I had a really good day today.
Just something I made the other day, when I was having a day like the third panel.
I'm not sure I should say anything about lunch. I guess I'll say that I had some yummy Thai chili linguini, and I sneaked a couple won-tons. Oh, and I had a Newcastle (11240).
Later in the afternoon I had a stupid meeting that ended up being not stupid, because I was the only person who showed up. So, that was nice.
I'd driven in to work on fumes, and so I had to stop and get gas on the way from work to HatGirl's house. I got $20 worth of gas, got back into my truck, and turned the key. Imagine my surprise when, as a result of my turning the key, absolutely nothing happened.
I was in a pretty bad part of Louisville, I think. So I was quite relieved and a little surprised when this one lady gave me a jump-start instead of murdering me for drug money.
At HatGirl's, I left my truck running while I fed the critters. Still haven't seen that damn kitty.
Then on the way to Rich O's I stopped and paid $150 for a new battery. For that price I assumed that my truck would be capable of flight, but nope, it's still ground-bound. Oh well.
At Rich O's, I had a couple glasses of yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (2647). I was going to have just the one and then go home with my pizza, but NotHideousGirl and OddlyFamiliarGirl came in. And this time they didn't totally ignore me, so yay!
Once I got home, I took a nap. Then when I got up I nuked a couple hot dogs. Because I'm stupid and completely forgot about the pizza in my fridge.
And now I'm having a Three Floyds Gumballhead (263). I tried to sit out in my garage with my beer, but it's too freaking cold.
I never do this, post videos I discover on the web. But there's a first time for everything, I guess.
Listen to the words.
I'm not sure I understand this one.
I was driving on some surface streets, and traffic was a mess.
At one point I was turning right and this little girl, maybe about two years old, was walking across the street in front of me. So, of course, I stopped and let her go by. I also kept an eye on her, because what was a two-year-old doing walking around in the road?
Well this little girl crossed in front of me and then almost immediately walked behind my car. I was afraid that the car behind me would hit her, so I jumped out of my car and grabbed the little girl. I guess I figured I'd take her home and then try to figure out who she belonged to.
But then after I put the little girl in my car I realized that it was a little dog instead. A poodle, I think. All white, and about the size of a 10-pound turkey. Cute!
Luckily I woke up before any of my cats found out I'd brought a dog home.
Today was the fifth day in a row that I've gone to HatGirl's house to take care of her critters, but I still haven't seen the kitty even once. I do, however, know that the kitty is still alive because I set treats out each day and the next day they're gone.
I get so sick and tired of people trivializing my problems and expecting me to act normal all the time. I do good to get out of bed in the mornings. Anything more than that is a bonus.
Tonight I had a nice long talk with my dad's ghost. It took some doing, and a couple bottles of Three Floyd's Gumballhead (215), to conjure him up, but I eventually succeeded.
It was a really nice conversation.
Every now and then I'll be driving - it's usually in Louisville - and I'll see some random young man walking down the sidewalk, using one hand to keep his super-loose pants from falling down.
I always wonder what kind of a terrible life that must be, the constant pressure that must involve.
Stretching an analogy almost to its breaking-point, I kinda do the same thing as those random young men.
Except that it's not modesty that I'm trying to preserve. Nope, it's my sanity.
I walk through life desperately clutching to pieces of myself that threaten to fall to the ground.
The shattering part is where the pants analogy breaks down. Because pants don't shatter, unless they haven't been washed in a zillion years, and that's an entirely different problem.
You know what's really nice to hear from the love of your life?
"Well, I wouldn't say you were the worst person ever."
That's what's nice to hear. Hope springs eternal, and all that.
Also, people who don't like the way I am should stop trying to guilt me into being something else. It won't work.
Empathy does not require understanding or agreement. Those are common misconceptions, but those things really are irrelevant to empathy.
Empathy can stand on its own and do just fine.
For those keeping score at home, I still haven't renewed any of my vehicle registrations. They were already closed on Saturday when I got there. They were closed today, and they'll be closed tomorrow. So I get to drive around illegally until Tuesday.
That's it for now. I need to go out to my garage and glare at my phone for a while.
I think all I want to say about tonight is that I was held captive by two hot young women, and that I had fun.
Oh shit! I totally forgot to renew any of my vehicle registrations. All three expired the 15th of September. I'll have to see about at least renewing the registration on my truck tomorrow, if I have time.
I think what's happened is that I've crossed some kind of sleep-deprivation wall. Kind of like marathon runners will reach a certain point and then running is supposed to become effortless. Well I should be very tired right now, but I'm not at all.
My brain is really rambling. You readers are lucky that so little of the rambling is making it to my fingers.
I want to go to Antarctica, and I don't want to take myself with me. I don't know how to do that. Or, maybe, I want to go to Antarctica with myself, but then return without myself. I don't know how to do that either. Either way, though, I want to go to Antarctica.
Another thing about tonight is that I had a Shiner Bock (17) and a Barley Island Barfly (56). Or maybe that's two other things about tonight.
Sometimes a helping hand is exactly that, and nothing more. Sneering at it will only lessen the probability of it ever being offered again.
If I had any sense at all, I'd do something. What, exactly, I don't know. Because I don't have any sense at all.
I suppose I should go stare at my bedroom ceiling for a few hours. Goodnight, world.
I had the strangest dream this morning. I'd gone back to the old house in Lanesville, where I lived until I was six. I go by there once or twice a year, hoping to see somebody in the yard so I can ask for a tour on some pretense or another.
In this dream, I went there and my dad was out in the driveway working on a car. In fact, my entire family was there. They were all wondering where I'd been for all these years.
Very strange, but still nice to see everyone again. Except for my friend and neighbor Kelly, who was really pissed at me for disappearing like that.
What a stupid night.
I'm sitting here at 1:45 AM, watching backup jobs run. Or watching them try to run. Stupid things keep failing.
And I'm not even supposed to be on-call tonight, so it's extra stupid.
Meanwhile, I guess I'm having a bit of a crisis. So it's kind of hard to think about work.
Had a really crappy day.
Irritated, almost angry at times. One of those days when I really had to wonder why I was even bothering with anything.
Lots of things are wrong. Fuck, everything good in my life is tainted. I may be surrounded by silver linings, but today all I see are dark clouds. And, the thing is, it all boils down to one feeling. One simple emotion that trumps everything else on days like today.
For living in this cage, I hate myself. For being unable to take my own damn advice, I hate myself. For my stubborn refusal to accept reality like a man, I hate myself. For whatever it is that's wrong with me, for whatever it is that keeps me invisible, that makes me unworthy, I loathe myself.
I am so fucked.
Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.
I guess there are about 6,700,000,000 people on Earth. Most of them are probably assholes, but I only wanted to write about one person tonight. So this entry won't be long as it could be. In fact, it will probably be quite brief.
I've kinda had these thoughts rattling around in my brain for a while. I know that they're worthy of a blog entry, but I've never been sure that I'm worthy to write that entry.
Well, I'm still unsure of my worthiness, but I'm in a very strange mood, so fuck it. I'm going to write something relevant.
The thing is, I think, that it only takes one person to change everything.
If just one person thinks that you're beautiful, you can never truly be ugly. If just one person sees the good in you, then you can never be a completely bad person. If just one person loves you, then you can never be unlovable. If just one person sits enthralled, dumbfounded, by how special you are, then you can never be ordinary. If just one person cares about you, then you fucking matter and you can never be irrelevant.
Going by the above, I am a beautiful, good, lovable, special person who matters. Seemed kind of silly to type that sentence. Seems even sillier to read it, knowing that it's about me, of all people. But there it is, and here I am.
I forget where I was going with this entry.
I got a very nice surprise today.
An unscheduled AlliDay!
I don't think I'd seen AlliGirl in over a month, and even then she'd been too busy to really talk. But today, I walked into the pub, expecting to see the same boring Wednesday people that I've been seeing for months, and instead I saw some legs. And a shock of blonde hair peeking from under a baseball cap. And, once I got close enough for her to recognize me, a mischievous grin.
And, it wasn't too busy in there today, so after the mandatory hug we got to talk for quite a bit and do some catching up.
It was really nice to see her!
Oh, yeah, I had a Newcastle (11106) for lunch.
Then, back to work.
Then, I went over to HatGirl's house to feed her cat and dogs and LuckyFucker's fish. Because they're gone. Getting married. Fucking surreal.
Anyway, HatGirl had assured me that her one asshole dog wasn't an asshole anymore. I'm not saying that she lied to me, but she was definitely mistaken. That damn dog refused to let me pay any attention whatsoever to the other dogs. It's exactly the same as it was a year ago.
And I didn't get to see the kitty at all. It was hiding from me because it doesn't know that I'm a cat person.
Then I went to Rich O's and had an Upland Wheat (231), then I came home.
Now I want to go outside and drink a Marzen but it's too damn cold. I kinda want to take a little space heater out there with me, but I'm afraid that might seem pathetic.
Maybe I'll just drink a damn beer in my living room like a regular person.
Got a quick text* from HatGirl this morning. They were getting ready to board. Their cruise. Their wedding cruise.
Surreal. The next time I see HatGirl and LuckyFucker, they will be married.
I bet that right now, Vegas oddsmakers are looking for tall buildings from which to fling themselves.
Anyway, for the next couple of weeks I am tasked with taking care of all of their critters. I'm looking forward to it, actually. I did the same thing last year, when they went on a regular non-wedding cruise. I like their dogs and their cat, and I guess the fish are cool.
This year I'm hopeful that the cat will actually let me pet it. And that none of the dogs bite me.
* - As opposed to those laboriously slow texts that take forever, I suppose.