There's a place. It's not a physical place, though that's part of it. It's more of a spiritual place.

The place, it's where I belong. It's why I'm here, on this Earth, in this life. To be in the place. It's where I fit, and more than that, it's where the universe fits me.

Problem is, I can't get there. There's no navigable route, and even if there were, the place is already occupied, and even if it wasn't, I'm not allowed in the place.

I've come very close. I've stood next to the place and I've felt its pull so strongly that it's threatened to rip me apart atom by atom.

If I believed in God, I'd surely hate Him, for showing me the place.

Resolve is a problem, of course.

It never lasts forever, so it never lasts long enough. Bad memories fade away and good memories rush in to fill the gaps, and resolve becomes a vague notion of a silly inkling, and nothing more.

And another thing is that there's always something else that I want to say. Not magic words that will fix everything - I've given up on finding such words - but instead an extrapolation of words I've already said. A clearer explanation as to why I am the way I am and why things are the way they are and why things must be the way that they must be.

I guess, just like everyone else, I want to be understood.

After all this time, I'm still met with doubt and disbelief. I'm still assaulted by accusations of exaggeration, still cut by cruel words that would mean nothing if not for their source.

I tried so hard, but I failed. There should be no shame in that; at least I did finally try. There should be no shame, but shame is all I feel sometimes.

And now I'm trying to give up. As if that makes any sense. I'm trying to accept my failure and I'm trying to stop trying.

I keep failing at that, too.

Because resolve is a problem, of course.

I want to go down to the Derby City Classic for a while tonight. It should be the last few rounds of the banks tournament. It should be fun.

But, the thing is, it's supposed to snow. Somewhere between four inches and eight feet, depending on which TV station you watch, and I don't really want to get stranded in an expensive casino when I don't have much money.

So I'd get down there and hope it didn't snow and then, if it didn't snow, I'd blame myself. And I like snow. Plus, my sister Neisha would kill me if I made it not snow.

And then there's other stuff. I can't write about the other stuff.

Okay, so I'm pissed. BFD.

It's my right, and I seriously doubt that anyone would try to tell me that it's without reason.

This fucking bullshit. This situation, as I keep calling it. I got fucking tired of being sad about it, and so now I'm pissed.

It's strange how anger and sadness are perceived, especially when displayed by a man.

Both are certainly perceived as negative emotions. But it's sadness that's seen, much more often (as in every fucking time) as a sign of weakness.

After all, only little kids and women get sad.

Men don't get sad. Men are strong. Men don't cry. Men don't even want to cry. It's not even an option for men.

Besides, it's easier, being pissed. And it make more sense.

I am a man, after all.

It's about fucking time that I started acting like one.

I have a nosebleed.

What's up with that?

I'll tell you exactly what it was like for me.

It was like looking at the Sun, and realizing that it was no longer blindingly bright. Then it was like looking at the Sun some more, and wondering what the big deal was.

Boring, really.

I don't know how long this will last. Probably not forever, though, and I think that's too bad.

It's kind of nice, not being blinded.

---

Wow, this was a fucked up week. Even by my standards.

---

What I want now is nothing.

I need to be clear; it's not that I don't want something, or even that I don't want anything.

Nope, it's just like I said. I want nothing.

I doubt that I'll get it.

I wonder who was more surprised. I called, and that must have surprised her. She answered, and that certainly surprised me.

It's the weirdest thing, how a short time on the phone, hearing a voice, can ease so much tension, erase so many doubts, clear up so many misunderstandings.

I just wanted to know if she was okay, that's all. I didn't ask her to come back. I didn't even ask her if she missed me. I just asked if she was okay, and she said that she was. She asked if I was okay, and I said that I wasn't.

Truth. She taught me its value, and I haven't forgotten.

We talked for an hour or so. It was a lot like old times, except we've obviously both moved on. She's moved further than I have.

It was nice. I really miss her sometimes, but I'm glad she got away from me when she did. Before I'd have hurt her all over again.

Ran across this old post from 2006 last night. It inspired me, but I didn't have any fake logs, so I went to bed.

---

It's been cold here for a week, and rainy all day long, so I started a fire. My first one of the season.

It's a fake log, but still a real fire, so I like it.

There is no sound.

Tonight, I am awake. For the first time in years, I'm fully awake.

I don't like it. Not even a little bit.

---

I wasn't wrong. I was as right as anyone has ever been. Validation has nearly drowned me.

It's just that sometimes people change, and right can become wrong as reality shifts and transforms.

---

It's so easy for me to revert to being that guy who did nothing but miss her for years. It was easy to be him, after all. Comfortable like a warm fuzzy blanket. It's so easy to go back. So tempting to just go back to where I feel safe. To where I feel like myself.

---

I censor myself in this journal. And now, more and more often, I censor myself in my life. This is not me, this shell that pretends and lies and laughs that fake laugh to hide the sound of sobbing. It's not me at all. I don't know what it is, this thing I've become. Some ridiculous caricature, perhaps, drawn by the same drunk retarded blind child who one day suddenly found himself in charge of my feelings, and now finds himself in charge of everything that I am.

---

Tonight, for a while now, I've gone back even farther than I usually go. I've reverted to another life. A life devoid of emotion, and therefore a life devoid of meaning.

I don't like it. Not even a little bit.

And getting more and more pissed with every passing minute.

People need to leave me alone today. I'm not in the fucking mood for any more bullshit.

I guess things even out sometimes, or they at least try to even out.

Like, I felt like crap all day yesterday, but then I slept like a baby last night.

I even had some good dreams, so there.

Lots of people tell me that I'm stupid, retarded, whatever. Lots of people tell me that I'm wasting my time.

Usually, I can ignore it when people tell me these things. Because they just don't know. They're not in my situation, and so there's no way they can really know.

Most of the time, I can ignore it when people tell me these things.

And then, then there are days like today. Days like today when I suspect that all those people are telling me the truth.

It snowed a little last night. Enough to make things pretty and to make the roads slick for a while. I liked it.

---

Spent some time this morning looking at pricing for flights to Las Vegas. I want to go there over my birthday weekend, I think. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have to worry about a place to stay.

---

Last night we had a nice dinner at Sam's. I always end up getting the blackened chicken alfredo, and it's always a little disappointing. This time it was much better than normal. Quite yummy.

---

Then I went over to HatGirl and LuckyFucker's house to drink a couple beers and play some cards.

HatGirl!

Yay!

We played spades, and I destroyed them. That was weird, because I usually suck at that game.

---

I wonder if Sportstime is open today. I'm craving a little pizza for lunch.

You know what's weird.

(censored)

That's what's weird.

I like it, though.

Na-na-na-na-na-na!

Na-na-na-na-na-na!

Spiderwoman!

---

That is all.

It's kinda like I might be holding a winning lottery ticket for a gazillion dollars.

Except that there's a slight catch. I have to walk across the country to find out if I've won.

No big deal, I think. Totally worth it if I win.

Except then there's another slight catch. The prize could expire at any minute, without warning, before I get there.

Oh, and it might end up being Monopoly money, too.

Oh yeah, and I've already been walking for a very long time.

I think that what really gets me is that nobody gets me.

I mean, I know exactly what I'm trying to say, and I usually manage to blurt out the correct words, but nobody really understands. Being an eternal optimist, I choose to believe that people don't want to understand, instead of that they're all just idiots.

Remember this dude?

You know what's worse than screams?

He stays down there almost all of the time lately. Down in the dungeon of my mind. The doors are not locked. He's free to come and go as he pleases. But he seems to prefer it down there. Or, at least, he prefers the darkness to the light.

His screams were so loud. They cut straight through me.

I feel for him. I really do. After all, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. Faced with that which neither of us could survive alone, the two of us together somehow pulled through. An unbeatable team bound, for a while at least, by parallel goals.

To endure. To live. To persevere. To exist.

To wait.

His screams were so piercing, but at least they showed strength. A will to keep trying, to keep fighting. His screams reminded me of those long-ago days and nights when we screamed together in horrible harmony.

You know what's worse than screams?

All I hear now is soft sobbing. And it keeps getting softer.

Well, that asshole grew himself a pair of balls or something. He started venturing into the open, becoming more and more bold. Rambling on and on and on about his damn feelings and desires and hopes and expectations.

He damn near ruined everything, the fucker. For both of us.

Fuck that.

I had to do something. So, the other night after he got drunk, I dragged his sorry ass down to the dungeon. I threw him into his cell, and then I locked the fucking door.

Maybe I should have just shot him in the head, put him out of our misery, but I didn't. Some weird sense of loyalty overcame me at the last minute. Some leftover feeling of brotherhood, perhaps, or maybe just plain old pity.

That poor wretched stupid asshole.

He'll probably rot in that cell.

Better him than me, though.

It was supposed to snow last night. They said it was supposed to snow.

Damn no-snow-having waste of cold weather.

We talked about it a little, the other day. How effortless it had all been. Our hands exploring bodies that we seemed to already know. Our mouths tasting flavors that seemed oh so familiar. Always just the right pressure. Always just the right balance of passion and intimacy. It really was like we were made for each other.

And then, in stark contrast, our minds fumbled. They refused to interlock the way our bodies did. Soon enough we found that our only comfort was in silence, because anything more would say too much.

It ended, eventually, as these things often do. Age differences and education differences and lifestyle differences were the excuses that we used to soften the truth. The truth that there simply was no real future between us. The truth that she was too wild for me, that I was too stable for her. And, of course, the awful truth that my heart already belonged to another.

She didn't understand that last truth. But how could she? I barely understood it myself. Sometimes you just know.

So we decided to end it with a bang, so to speak, as these things often end. One last night doing the things at which we excelled together.

In silence, of course.

More words would have ruined it.

I suppose that I'm pretty good at waiting. As I should be, what with all the practice I've had.

But still, I'd like to be better at it. I know that I can be better at it, and I'm not really sure why I suck so much sometimes. Probably something to do with the difference between impatience and anticipation. It's a thin line there, I think. Like the proverbial you-know-what hair.

Anyway, now I find myself waiting. Maybe for nothing, maybe for something. I asked, and now I wait for a response. I do that a lot, it seems.

Worth the wait?

Certainly, as long is this newfound pseudo-patience of mine pays off.

And if it doesn't?

Well, then maybe tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.

It's not like I've got anything better to do.

I was going to say please stand by, but that would be mean if I end up never writing here again.

How do I write about the end of something, if I never really wrote about the thing itself?

Somehow, that's all, folks just doesn't seem appropriate.

How do I write about the end of a life, if that life turned out to have been meaningless?

Somehow, ta-da! just doesn't seem to cut it.

I need to stop writing now. I've got too much to say.

RockGirl's boyfriend can be so sweet to her sometimes.

Okay, I'm officially sick.

Thanks for caring.

I might be sick.

It's hard to tell for sure. I might have a bit of a sinus infection, or I might be suffering from lack of sleep. Or maybe it's a combination of both.

Felt like crap all day today. I was very excited about coming straight home after work and taking a nap.

The nap thing - it only lasted half an hour before the nightmare came.

This one, I remembered. Usually, lately, I don't remember what it is that jolts me awake, bathed in my own sweat with my heart threatening to leap out of my chest. But this one, I remembered.

That image is burned into me now, so I doubt I'll sleep tonight either. Unless I'm sick.

Fuck, I hope I'm sick.

I did something unusual tonight. Unusual for me, anyway. Others' mileage may vary.

I searched for mouse poop. With my hands.

Let me say that again.

I. Searched. For. Mouse. Poop. With. My. Hands.

Why did I do such a thing?

Thanks for asking.

Because I'm a good guy, that's why. Oh, and also because it was too dark to see and somebody doesn't have a flashlight.

Anyway, I found no mouse poop, or any other incriminating evidence. This was a good thing, I think.

I got to be a good guy without the hassle of getting mouse poop on my hands.

For weeks and months, people have been telling me things that I already know. Well, guess what; I already know those things.

My odds are abysmal, but as soon as I give up, as soon as I walk or run or crawl or swim away, my odds will reduce to zero. Can't have that. No way. Can't wait this long and come this far and then just quit.

This is my choice.

I will have my regrets, certainly, but never again will I have to ask myself, What if I'd tried harder? What if I'd given it everything I had? What if I'd laid everything on the line?

Fuck that. No regrets. Not this time.

I have done and said everything I could do. I've been totally, almost painfully honest. I've been loyal and attentive and generous and caring. I've given every ounce of my being to this, and there's only one thing left that I can do.

Wait.

I still have some patience left, believe it or not. Sometimes it wears thin, and sometimes it even seems to run out completely. I always seem to find a reserve, though, welling up from some dark place that I didn't know existed.

Good things come to those who wait, huh?

Well, I'm waiting. Been doing it for a very long time now.

People keep telling me things that I already know.

This is my choice, to wait.

To die trying, or to simply die? Or, perhaps, to live?

This time, if I die again, this time I will do it standing up.