So the challenge, as I see it, is to see if I can sit here and write an entry. Despite being very tired. Despite being fairly distracted. And, as an added challenge, can I write an entry before the battery on my laptop runs out?

I fell asleep a little while ago. Right there on her couch. Very strange. I mean, I had a whole four and a half hours of sleep last night. That should be plenty for me.

Oh, shit. I hope I'm not coming down with something. That would suck. I have had the sniffles today. Crap.

My fingers are willing to type, but my brain doesn't seem ready hold up its end of the bargain. I'm having a hard time thinking of my own name, let alone an idea for a hastily written blog entry.

I could, I suppose, try to condense the last few weeks of my life. Strip out all of the things I can't write, tone down some of the emotions, respect everyone's privacy as much as I can. I could do those things, but then what would be left?

I and to what when kitties beer cold.

Another thing I could do is make something up. Write some fiction. I get this bug up my ass every now and then to write some fiction. There are two problems with this idea.

Problem the first, I don't know if I can write fiction.

Problem the second, I don't have any ideas for fiction, either.

So, I'm basically fucked.

I wonder, does this count as an entry yet?

Sometimes I imagine timid peeps. A rabbit peeking out of its hole, or a tortoise poking its head out of its shell. Curious, but wary. Oh, so wary.

Other times I think it's more forceful, purposeful even. Eyes illuminating. Searching for something. Expecting something. Maybe a little disappointed when it's not there. Maybe a little relieved.

I wish I knew what to do here. What to write. I could make everything better, or I could make everything worse. But I don't know, so instead I do neither. I write nothing.

Nothing at all.

That comic has nothing to do with anything. It's just something I thought of that was funny to me.

This entry brought to you by Alaskan Smoked Porter (773).

Recently - it might have been Monday or it might have been some earlier night, as the last months of my life have quite blurred together - OddlyFamiliarGirl told me that I should write more often. She talked about the things that had first drawn her to my blog; the honesty and the passion that I felt, which would so easily flow from my heart down my arms through my fingers and onto my keyboard. She wanted to read that kind of entry again.

I replied that I couldn't do it, that some things were just too hard to write about.

Like how an important question can seem to go unanswered, but it's not really. Refusal to answer is an answer all in itself. Evasion is taking a stand.

And like how unwillingness to choose is really just choosing to leave things the way that they are. To maintain the status quo, no matter how unstable it is. No matter how untenable the universe is.

And how Patience is a virtue, as some dillhole once said. I suppose I agree with that, most of the time. But sometimes, sometimes patience is a hindrance. Like when it's running out, and you can feel it draining away from you like dirty water spiraling down a drain. It's going away, and you know that you don't have much left, and all you can think about is, What will be left of me when it's gone? Will there be anything left at all?

And how sometimes the only way to be happy is to lie to yourself. To fool yourself into believing, even if only for a few hours, that it's the universe around you that lies, and it's not you lying to yourself.

And how it breaks your heart every single time you're reminded that sometimes love is irrelevant.

And how love can spring from the most unlikely connections, but you can't even come close to writing about that, because it's

What's nice, sometimes, is being able to just surrender. To stop worrying about things that are wrong or have gone wrong or could go wrong. To stop worrying about those things, maybe even forget about them for a while, and just surrender.

Perfect moments don't come along very often. Perfect nights, even less frequently. We all seek perfection, but we never find it. Instead, perfection finds us, when we least expect it.

Out of the ashes of despair can rise the phoenix of joy, or some shit like that.

I managed to surrender for a while. I managed to stop worrying for a while. And, when I did, perfection found me.

Happy Birthday to HatGirl!

HatGirl!

Yay!

I'm guessing that HatGirl was bored, so she sent me this. Well, I'm bored, so I'm answering these questions.

1. Do you like blue cheese salad dressing? Not so much. I like Italian dressing.

2. Have you ever smoked cigarettes? Duh.

3. Do you own a gun? I have some that I inherited from my dad. I probably wouldn't have any guns otherwise.

4. What's your favorite drink at Starbucks or other specialty coffee shop? I don't like coffee.

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments? Not particularly.

6. What do you think of hot dogs? I like them over an open fire, with the outsides burnt black. Yummy.

7. Favorite Christmas song? I have no idea.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? A soda with caffiene.

9. Can you do push ups? Sure.

10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? I suppose a watch, if that counts. If I ever get married again, then my wedding ring will be my favorite.

11. Favorite hobby? Shooting pool.

12. Do you have A.D.D? I've been distracted lately. For like the last five years. Does that count?

13. What's one trait that you dislike about yourself? I am perfect in every way. It irritates me.

14. Middle name? Shane.

15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment? You-know-who. You-know-who. You-know-who.

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink? Diet Pepsi, water, beer.

17. Current worry right now? Not being good enough.

18. Current hate right now? The dipshit.

19. Favorite place to be? I like Las Vegas.

20. How did you bring in the New Year? By myself, as usual.

21. Like to travel? I like to be in new places, but the actual traveling I can do without.

22. Name three people who will complete this? Nobody.

23. Do you own slippers? Yes. they look like a bear's feet.

24. What color shirt are you wearing? Light green.

25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? I suppose.

26. Can you whistle? Only by inhaling. I've never figured out how to whistle by exhaling.

27. Favorite singer/band? I'm still on a David Gray kick.

28. Could you ever make it 39 days on the show Survivor? Sure.

29. What songs do you sing in the shower? Lord, I was born a rambling man, Nugget. Tryin' to make a living and doing the best I can, Nugget. And when it's time for leaving, I hope you'll understand, Nugget, that I was born a ramblin' man, Nugget.

Nugget is one of my cats, by the way.

30. Favorite girl's name? If I ever have a daughter, I'd like to name her Launa after my mom.

31. Favorite boy's name? I don't think I care, as long as it's not Trevor.

32. What's in your pocket right now? My rock.

33. Last thing that made you laugh? An accidental game of footsie.

35. Worst injury you've ever had? When this one whore tried to cut my arm off.

36. Do you love where you live? It's okay, I suppose.

37. How many TVs do you have in your house? About 6.

38. Who is your loudest friend? TremensGirl or OddlyFamiliarGirl.

40. Does someone have a crush on you? A few people, I think.

41. What is your favorite book? I think it's The Time Traveler's Wife.

42. What is your favorite candy? Peanut Butter Twix.

43. Favorite sports team? I don't really care these days, but I used to be a big Seattle Mariners fan.

44. What were you doing 12 AM last night? I was just about to come home for some stupid reason.

45. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up today? WTF?

After I got home Friday, I attempted to take a nap. That attempt, of course, failed. By then, I figured, I'd had about eight hours of sleep since the previous Saturday morning.

Yes, I was tired. Thanks for asking.

But I guess I must have hit some kind of wall, like long-distance runners always talk about. I reached a certain point of exhaustion, and not only did it not get any worse, it actually got a little better.

So I was dicking around on my computer, catching up on some of the reading that I'd let lapse during The Week Of Hell. I clicked over to the blog of MrPopular, and saw this entry.

For those of you who didn't feel like clicking, it has a mention about how this dude Mike was selling some bottled overstock and such. But even more interesting than what it says now it what it used to say.

It used to say that the items for sale included some bottles of Alaskan Smoked Porter.

It used to say that, and it doesn't anymore, because of me.

Now, I happened to be wearing pants when I read that Alaskan Smoked Porter was for sale. So the Rich O's crowd was spared the thrill disgust of seeing me run into the place as God might have intended. Not sure that a little public nudity would have made much of a difference, though, as I broke every traffic law known to man getting down there. I think that the trip that normally takes 15 minutes took about 15 seconds.

See, MrPopular has been sitting on these bottles (not literally sitting, I don't think) for a very long time. Every now and then I'd hear rumors about them, but rumors were all they were. Rich O's used to sell Alaskan Smoked Porter, but it's been years since that happened. I could, and did, have that lovely beer every time I went to Las Vegas, but even that luxury had been unavailable for over a year.

So I was excited. And I was also quite fearful that I'd be too late. That it would all be sold before I got there. That's why I broke all those traffic laws, and that's why it was probably a good thing that I was wearing pants when I read about the sale.

What ended up happening was that this server dude and I spent a few minutes looking for that Mike dude. Then, when we found him, I bought every bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter there was.

Fifteen bottles of ebony ambrosia.

It's out there in my beer fridge now. That crappy dirty old refrigerator. Never before has it served such a noble purpose.

Those beers call to me. I estimate that, if I limit my intake to special occasions, I can probably make those bottles last a year.

But tonight I'm going to have one. As soon as I post this entry I'm going to sit in my detached garage and I'm going to have one.

"What's the special occasion?" you might ask.

It's quite simple, really.

I have fucking Alaskan Smoked Porter, and if that's not special then I don't know what is.

UPDATE: Fucking yummy! The only thing that could have made this beer taste better would have been if I'd been sharing it with her.

I'm awake again.

I got about three hours of sleep, this time, before I awoke drowning in this flood of reality. Gasping for air that's forever out of reach, so that I might be able to scream for help that's forever out of range.

This is so hard. I'm so tired. Waiting for rescue that's never going to come.

Spending this morning looking for Las Vegas trips for tomorrow night.

Surprisingly, the cost wouldn't be that great. But I'm stuck when trying to find reasonable arrival and departure times for my flights.

Oh, well. It might be nice, but it's just plan C anyway. And I'm sure I'd end up feeling guilty for some bizarre reason.

You know what? It's just too much to write about. It's too fluid, and too real, and too uncertain.

My life is about to end, or it's about to begin.

I fear the former while I fervently hope for the latter. But it's out of my hands. All I can do is wait and see.

Five years, and it's coming down to this.

Will I live, or will I die again?

Last night I was able, thanks to some unseasonably warm weather, to sit out in my detached garage for a while. I'd found a bottle of Schlenkerla Marzen (6789) in my refrigerator and, what with yesterday having been what it was, I needed to drink it. So that's what I did. I sat on my el-cheapo white plastic furniture, drank my yummy beer, and contemplated the universe.

Much like when I went to the grocery store Monday night, I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat in my garage. It had certainly been a while. And, though the circumstances that led me to sit out there last night were pretty horrible, I suppose that I ended up enjoying it. Sometimes it's nice for me to simply enjoy my own company for a couple of hours.

I just sent RockGirl an email. She'd asked me when I slept.

Saturday night I didn't sleep a wink. I finally got to sleep at about 3:00 Monday morning and slept until 7:00. Monday night I think it was about 4:00 when I finally got to sleep. Yesterday after work I actually managed to take a two-hour nap, then I couldn't get to sleep again until at least 2:30.

This is a boring entry.

How do I handle this?

I don't know how, I only know that it needs to be handled.

I did everything I could do, and it wasn't enough. I tried my absolute hardest, and I failed. I was the best person I could be, and I didn't measure up. I went as far as I could go, and I fell short.

However I want to say it and however many times I say it, the sting doesn't lessen.

How do I handle this?

Same way, I suppose, that I've handled everything else.

I'll just muddle through.

I went to the grocery store tonight. I bought cat food and kitty litter. Weird, I was standing there in the checkout line, and it struck me that I had no idea how long it had been since I'd done something as simple as going to the store to buy groceries.

Weeks, at least. Maybe months.

For all of the recent past that I can recall, my personal shopping has been at convenience stores and gas stations. My meals have taken place at bars and restaurants or, more rarely, at someone's home.

Where has my life gone?

A few weeks ago, ActualGeorge cautioned me to not let my current situation take over my life. Well, what if it's too late? And, not only that, what if it's replaced my life?

Oh, well. It's not like my life was all that great to begin with. Maybe this new life will be better. I hope so.

Yeah, that's right, I said it. I have hope.

I bet none of you saw that coming.

Rome burns, and I stand helpless against the flames. I can do nothing to stop or even slow their progress. I could run away, but I do not. Instead, I stand my ground. I watch all of this beauty being consumed, and I try to commit every graceful line to memory, so that it will never be really lost. Not as long as I'm alive to remember.

But that is, of course, the problem.

I can not allow myself die in this blaze. Eventually, my skin blistering and my hair singeing, I will have no choice but to flee. So that I can stay alive, to remember and to mourn. So that somewhere in the world, this beauty will live on, even if it's only in my head.

Rome burns all around me. I can not allow myself to burn with it. No matter how much I want to stay here forever. No matter how much I want to die with it, my ashes intermingled.

This is silly.

It's 2:18 in the morning, as I type this sentence, and I'm glaring at my phone.

Now it's 2:19 in the morning, and I'm hitting Send/Recv on my email client.

This is so silly.

Just because I feel like we left things unsaid tonight, that doesn't mean she's going to call me or email me. Just because I think this would be the perfect time to pick up where we left off, that doesn't mean that she shares that sentiment.

Now it's 2:22 in the morning, and I'm glaring at my phone again.

Just because I've given up on sleep for the night, that doesn't mean she's lying in her bed, eyes wide open, wondering if she should contact me.

Nope, she's asleep by now. Probably dreaming.

I hope her dreams are sweet.

Now it's 2:26, and I'm checking my email again. In a couple of minutes, I'll probably go unlock my front door.

Just in case.

I remember how I survived those dark times. It wasn't luck, and it wasn't strength - it was calculated insanity.

This is from a Saturday night in September, 2005, in a blog that I kept anonymous:

You always hated sitting at the bar.

But you would sit there, if there were no other seat available.

You would sit there, if I was already there.

Tonight, I sat at the bar. Not because there were no other seats available, but because at the bar, you're not expected to join in any conversations. You're not under any pressure. You can just sit, and drink, and everyone else in the place can enjoy their Saturday without your input.

I wasn't in the mood for company tonight. I wasn't in the mood for anything, really. I just wanted to have a couple of beers. Relax a little. So I sat at the bar to ensure myself some privacy.

You know the layout of the place. As well as anybody, you know how the room is set up. If you're at the bar, your back is to the room. Your back may as well be to the rest of the world. All sorts of things can happen behind you and you'd never even know it.

In fact, if you don't bother to look beside you, you won't even know what's going on at the bar.

It's just you and your beer. And your thoughts.

---

Very rarely, I find myself in a decent mood. Not good, not bad, just decent.

I cherish these times, and I cherished tonight.

For tonight, with my back to the world, with my attention focused on the beer and the ashtray in front of me, I could let my imagination out to play for a while.

I imagined that you were sitting next to me. Just like the old days.

I could almost feel the heat from your body. Hear your voice. Feel your fingers as they touched my arm to emphasize a point.

I miss you so much.

I miss what we had. Nothing more. How could I miss the other stuff? How could I miss what never happened? People just don't understand. I loved you first as a friend. That's what I miss. If I'm sad, it's because of what I lost, not because of what I never had.

The person I was back then, the person who wrote that tortured drivel - I'm still that person. But tonight, as with so many other recent nights, I didn't need my imagination. Instead, I could simply turn my head a little bit to one side, and open my eyes, and let reality overwhelm me with its intensity. Let beauty carry me far away from the gray place that has been my home for so long. Let the simple sound of laughter vibrate my bones into putty.

It's not that I don't want to write about the joy that I sometimes feel, it's that I can't. It's simply not possible. Sufficient words do not exist.

I used to have this thing, back when MixedSignalGirl served as my muse. More than a habit, it was, but less than a rule. I'd write something, every single night. Whether good, or bad, or indifferent, I'd always write at least one entry.

I liked it, back then. I always felt like I was accomplishing something, each and every day. Even if my so-called accomplishment was nothing more than vomiting drivel onto the internet, it was still better than nothing. And it made me feel like I was better than nothing.

I'd like to be able to feel that way again.

People are getting fed up with me. Grudging respect has morphed into disdain and pity. Impatience and frustration rule every interaction. I hear it in their voices. I read it in their emails and in the comments they leave on my blogs.

I see it in their eyes.

I see it in my eyes, when I dare to look into a mirror.

It's almost time, I think.

This used to be about me. I could say whatever I wanted to say, because nobody was listening. I could feel whatever my heart compelled me to feel, because nobody cared. Not really.

But it's not about me anymore. Now that emotional and physical separation has been taken away, there are others. Wonderful, amazing others.

To most people, this has been naught but a show. A one-man play, with one improvised scene that has continued for years. Audiences have come and gone, interest has waxed and waned, and I have continued my performance, oblivious. The hero and the villain and the comic relief, all rolled into one.

When do I stop? When do I take a bow? When do allow the curtain to close?

This is coming to an end, I think.

It's almost time, I think.

Is that what I'm supposed to do? Just settle for the next girl who I like that likes me back?

Opportunities for true happiness are rare for me, and they're only going to get more scarce.

Am I supposed to just give up and give in? And put out?

I could make someone happy, and I could be happy myself. But should I settle for happy, knowing that the love of my life is a kiss away?

Is happy supposed to be good enough?

Doesn't the girl who unlocked my heart deserve special consideration? Incredible understanding? Extraordinary patience?

Shouldn't I wait forever?

I know of at least one person who's probably getting a huge kick out of all this.

Reading my blog, between the lines, the things that I cannot and will not say. Imagining the pressure building up inside me. Gleefully imagining the day that I'll explode into a million pieces.

"It's what he deserves, after all," she says to herself.

There are too many similarities. There are too many parallels.

It's like my life is preordained, nothing more than a grotesque reflection of my own immutable past. I am living the nightmare that I once caused for another. My silent screams do not awaken me, they only push me deeper into terror.

I hand out advice like acid at Woodstock, but I ignore it when it's given to me. Even when it's the same advice.

I tell myself that things will get better, even though my own experience tells me that this can only end in sorrow.

I have become the victim of my own desires. They stalk me, they toy with me, eventually they will destroy me. But not until they're tired of their games, and I fear that will be a very long time from now.

To pass the time, I surround myself with hypotheticals. What would I do, if? What should I do, when? How should I prepare, just in case?

But it's all bullshit. There's no if and there's no when and there's no just in case. There's only reality, closing in inexorably, crushing every possibility except the one that leads to an end. To our end. To my end.

I know of at least one person who's probably laughing her ass off about this. It's what I deserve, after all.

I have a problem writing about nice things. I have zero creativity when it comes to things like that. That being said, here goes.

---

I've asked several people since Friday night, and nobody thinks I'm dumb at all. Most people, in fact, say that I'm quite smart. So there.

---

NABC Cone Smoker is back!

Yay!

---

Tuesday evening I got to have dinner with HatGirl and then go to Rich O's with her.

HatGirl!

Yay!

---

WeirdGirl told me again that she misses my tongue. That's kinda sweet of her to say that.

---

I never would have predicted it, but I totally want a baby in my life. Strange but very true.

---

Today I stayed home from work because I was feeling icky. But now I feel much better. Almost healthy, actually.

---

The things in my life that are, by far, the most wonderful and amazing and fulfilling? I still can't write about those things, but they're fucking awesome.

I'm not the bum, but I still got the fucking bum's rush.

But that's not the annoying part.

Nope, the fucking annoying part is that I knew this was going to happen, I was warned that this was going to happen, yet I went anyway.

Nobody to blame but myself.

I remember this one time, not too long ago, that my friend RockGirl was glaring at her phone, and it rang.

It actually rang!

I begged and pleaded for her to give me her secret glaring method, so that I might enjoy the same success.

But, unfortunately, she didn't remember what it was she had done differently.

The moral of this story is to videotape your life so you have a record of everything you ever do.