I've been seeing variations of this around. I'm bored and I can't sleep, so what the heck.
Airline miles. First I saved enough to go to Hawaii, then I saved enough to go to Hawaii first-class, then I saved enough to go with somebody special. Now I think I've got enough to go first-class with somebody special, but nobody wants to go with me.
Baseball. When I was a kid I was a pretty big fan of the Reds. I played little league and stuff, and I could run fast and I could whack the crap out of the ball. But I couldn't field for shit.
Cats. I have two of them now. I used to have three, but poor Happy died last fall when I was busy. I've always been more of a cat person than a dog person.
Dangerfield. My funniest Rodney Dangerfield joke is, "I never got any respect even as a kid. Why when I was kidnapped my parents got a call saying if they didn't pay $5000 they'd see me again."
Every time I think that things are getting better, they suck even harder.
Farrah. The way I found out about Michael Jackson's death was that KittenDamsel told me a joke. "What was Farrah Fawcett's dying wish?" "That Michael Jackson would die."
Goth. Laptopgirl told me that she used to be goth. I really really really want to see pictures from those days. I bet she was hot.
Igloo. That was just the first thing that popped into my head that started with that letter. I bet they're hard to build.
Jackie was the name of one of the first girls I ever had a crush on. It was second grade.
K as in the letter K. It's a bad-luck letter for me when it comes to women. As opposed to all of the incredibly fantastic luck I have the rest of the time.
Launa was my mom's name. If I were to ever have a daughter, I'd want to name her Launa.
Meow. That's what Buddy is doing right now. He thinks that he's starving to death because he hasn't eaten since midnight or so.
North. I wish I'd done more exploring when I lived in Alaska. I mean, I did quite a bit, but I should have done more. I want to go back someday.
Oppossums. I don't like them and their beady eyes.
Pickles. They suck. Their smell contaminates everyting around them, and God help you if you get pickle juice on something because that smell is never going away.
Quack. Part of this entry fragment that I like: If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck and swims like a duck and quacks like a duck - guess what, it's a fucking duck. Call it a cherry pie all you want, but it's still a damn duck.
Rise. That's what the Sun is going to do before too long. I should go outside and watch.
Sometimes I wish I'd never told her the truth. But only sometimes.
Tornadoes. I'd still like to see one someday, as long as it's not coming straight at me.
Underwear. I wear boxers. You know you care.
Vanquish. I don't know why I thought of that word. Maybe I'm tired.
WeatherGirl has always been nice to me. Her dog sucks, though.
X-rays. I've had my shoulder and my foot and my knee x-rayed. Oh, and my teeth. No super-powers yet, though. I'm still waiting.
YoungGirl and I had dinner Sunday evening. It was nice to have the company.
Zoo. I like the Tazmanian Wolves. I think they're cool-looking. They smell like skunks, though.
You ever get a desire and at first you don't pay much attention to it, because you figure it's just collateral damage, and then it grows and grows and sometimes threatens to consume you? And you can't think about anything else, even those things that are much more important and much more noble and even much more realistic?
Yeah, me too.
Most people probably think that I'm a pessimist. They're wrong for thinking that, but I guess I understand their mistake. It's just that I try to prepare for the worst.
The problem that I have is that "the worst" is an ever-changing thing. What was "the worst thing" yesterday is nothing but the fucked-up past today, and there's an entirely new "worst thing" for me to prepare for.
I've told RockGirl, several times, that I expect to be murdered someday. And, not only that, I expect that I know exactly who my killer will be. It's just common sense. A trivial extrapolation that a child could do while sleeping.
But that's in the far-off future. I won't have to worry about that until a million other bad things have happened. And I'll wait for each and every one of those things, and I'll endure each and every one of those things, because they must be important or they'd certainly have stopped by now.
I used to joke about the bad things, until they happened. After that, they didn't seem all that funny to me anymore.
I'm in a good mood. That doesn't make any sense at all.
It must be denial.
What will tomorrow bring?
I don't know, but I bet it will suck, whatever it is.
I know that I'm probably jumping the gun. Things fall apart all the time, but I have a feeling that it's not going to happen this time. I'm not sure why I feel this way. Probably a combination of optimism and desperation.
I found myself sitting in my garage last night, planning my route and coming up with a rudimentary itinerary. I gave very little thought to getting prepared, but I never do that. That's not the fun part, after all. That's the part that will suck. Figuring out what to take, what to leave. Who to tell and what to tell them.
Who to invite?
Whoa, where did that thought come from?
I must contemplate this idea further...
I could lose power at any second. That's kinda exciting to me. The lightning outside is crazy, like living inside a strobe-light. I want to vomit some words here and then I want to go back out to my garage and watch the lightning some more.
This probably isn't going to make any sense to anyone but me, but I don't care. I don't know why you people read this crap anyway. Inertia is my guess.
I can close my eyes, when I'm in the right mood like the one I'm in right now, and I can see.
A single bright point of light, directly ahead. It outshines, without even trying, the smudges to my left and the smears to my right, and even the fading spotlight behind me.
People think, people wonder, people question, people doubt, people question some more. But people just don't see. It's right there.
All I have to do is close my eyes, and everything is perfectly clear.
So I had that thought dangling from my brain. When I finally dislodged it, I sat down here to write an entry about it.
But, as it turns out, I've already written the entry. Over three years ago. Oops.
I was wrong about being okay, when I first wrote this entry. I might be wrong again this time - the bruising is much more severe, after all. Time will tell.
The other night, I drank a bottle of yummy Alaskan Smoked Porter and wrote a bunch of snippets of boring crap. One of those snippets was this:
I think about a couple of my friends who've recently started reading my 'blog. I try to keep things light for them - but not too light. I want to come off as neither a lunatic nor as a child. This is easier said than done. Especially when I'm both. I want to come off as insightful at times, and as brilliant at others. This is easier said than done. Especially when I'm neither.I'm thinking that this is probably worth its own entry, so I'm going to give it one.
We'll see if I can write anything coherent without alcohol in my bloodstream. I have my doubts.
The problem is, I don't seem to be able to write anything that's either interesting or well-written unless that writing comes from my heart. My emotions are the source of everything I've ever written that I considered readable.
Because of this, I tend to stick with those same emotional topics and rehash them to death. Beat that dead horse into bloody pulp.
So someone new to my 'blog comes along, reads some of my drivel, and makes conclusions based on it.
Conclusions that are often less than accurate. Or at least not timely.
SCRIBBLERESQUE PARENTHETICAL THOUGHT: This is the third time I've restarted this entry. I know what I want to write, but I'm having a hard time deciding how to write it.
But what are people supposed to think about me, when they read my 'blog?
Read something from the Fall of 2003, and you'll be so bored that you'll never read anything by me again. You'll probably volunteer for a lobotomy to prevent accidentally reading something I've written.
Read some of the later stuff, and you'll feel a little sorry for me. You'll think my writing is insane, and obsessive, and overly dramatic, but some of what I write is at least interesting and/or well-written and/or entertaining.
But what are you supposed to think about me?
I read back through my old entries, and there is of course one theme that keeps popping up. That fucking dead horse. I write about it because it's what I know, and it's what I feel, and it's - I guess comfortable would be a good word.
But it's not me. Not anymore. Not, at least, to anywhere near the extent that it used to be. That's what I want people to think about me when they read my 'blog:
I'm okay. Or I will be.
I get better all the time. Every day I wake up with a little less pain, and every night I go to sleep with a little less feeling that the day was wasted because she didn't share it with me.
I think I'm what you might call emotionally bruised.
But that bruise is fading.
So what should people think about me, when they read my 'blog?
I'd like people to think that I'm a person, a human being, just as capable of pain, or passion, or selfishness, or friendship, or stupidity, as anyone else. I'd like people to not be afraid of me, or of hurting my feelings. I'd like people to know that they don't need to tiptoe around me. That I'm stronger than I seem.
I'd like people to understand that there are some things about me that they may never understand, because I don't even understand them myself.
But that's okay, and so am I.
The problem is that, sometimes, it does no good. Pretending that the monster in the closet doesn't exist is both futile and stupid when it does exist. Lurking, waiting, salivating.
"Suck it up," they say.
"Suck this up," I so badly want to respond.
But, I don't say any such thing. I'm nice, after all. And people generally mean well, even when they advise stupid shit like that.
Some things simply cannot be dealt with by sheer act of will. Some things are, get this, actually hard. Some things, they take time, and too often time is a concession we're not given. So, too often, we find ourselves pressured into ignoring the problem, pretending that it's not as bad as it really is. Trying to fool the world and ourselves into believing that everything is okay.
And then one day we explode into a million pieces.
Ignoring problems doesn't make them go away. Acting normal might fool some people, but it never fools the most important person, the person doing the acting. So what's the point? The inconvenient truth is always always always better than the convenient lie.
And the thing is, I suck it up a little bit every damn day. How else would I get out of bed each morning? How else would I ever leave my house? How else would I breathe?
I do all I can to get through this, and that is, by definition, all I can do.
Okay, maybe I could close the closet door. Maybe I could turn on the lights and banish the shadows but, eventually, I'd have to sleep. And that's when it would get me. In my sleep.
I'd rather be awake, And see that monster coming. And hear the hinges squeaking and the floorboards creaking. And feel and hear the soft whimpers from my throat as my body tenses up from fear.
In case you were wondering, I'm in a weird mood right now.
We discussed this. I got permission to write this.
We went into this with good intentions. Maybe not the best of intentions, but still good ones. Innocent ones. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. It wasn't supposed to end like this, but it was supposed to end. Someday. But not like this.
We were so well-balanced. Not lopsided at all. Not the way my last relationship was. That was so fucking lopsided that there are many who wouldn't call it a relationship at all. Well, fuck them, I say. It most certainly was a relationship, just a very lopsided one.
The two of us, we were balanced. We knew each other quite well. We trusted each other. We liked each other a lot. And we'd each learned some tricks in the last three years, so that part was fantastic. And the timing was good. We needed each other. Each of us on the rebound, each of us desperately seeking distraction, neither of us looking for anything long-term, neither of us ready for anything serious.
Nothing serious with each other, I should clarify.
It was supposed to be fun, and it was certainly fun. It was supposed to be a distraction, and it was definitely that as well. It was supposed to be casual, though, and that's where we fucked up.
We didn't want to progress at all, but we did. We went from fuckbuddies to boyfriend/girlfriend before either of us realized what was happening. This was bad, because neither of us wanted that kind of relationship. Neither of us was ready for that kind of relationship.
Not with each other, I should clarify again.
So we found ourselves in a dilemma. The casual relationship we'd initially tried to have wasn't going to be enough for us, but the more serious relationship that had developed - it had developed too soon. It was doomed, from the second it began.
These torches we carry, see, they're not for each other.
We asked ourselves and each other a question.
Would we have a better chance trying to tough it out right now, or should we wait a few months and see if we're ready then?
We both came up with the same answer. Whatever might happen in a few months is irrelevant. What's relevant is that right now, there is no way we could make it work. We're both in love with someone else, and those feelings must and will take priority for us, even if they don't deserve it.
This is not about waiting or hoping for a lost love to come back into our lives. Nope, this is about acceptance. When we can accept, in our hearts, that we're alone, then that is when we'll be ready to stop being alone.
This may take a long time. It may take forever. It may never happen. Such is life, and such is love.
I'm thinking that I won't bother writing a blog entry about last night, as the title pretty much says it all.
'Cause I'm all efficient and shit.
And straight, in case the title made you wonder.
I'm in a pretty weird mood today. Lack of sleep I guess, the blame for which is shared equally between a bout of insomnia keeping me awake and a thunderstorm waking me up.
I want to write today. More than that, I want to be a writer. Whatever that means. Vomiting words and somehow having them splatter into readability. A Rorschach test to reveal things about the writer, and maybe about the reader as well.
You ever just have one of those lives?
I'm waiting again. That's what I do. The present holds little interest for me, and the past is annoyingly immutable, so I wait for the future. I hope that, once I finally catch up with that elusive asshole, that this will all make sense. That I'll understand why I've endured.
I need to get out of this house, and out of this mood.
It was one of my big concerns, actually, that I wouldn't let this end quietly. That, once this beast was no longer looming ahead of me but was instead standing beside me, that I'd lash out. Or at least try to defend myself.
I haven't really done that, I don't think. Nope, I'm just letting it beat the shit out of me, and hoping that it'll tire before I die.
Another concern is that the end will never be a part of my past. That I'll pick it up and I'll carry it with me for the rest of my days. Burdened by its weight, encumbered by it's size, but unable and unwilling to let go because it will be all that I have left to prove that I ever existed in any way that mattered.
I lie awake, and I doubt the truth of every word that was ever said to me.
And the amazing thing was the rapidity with which it all took place.
I never in my life saw anyone sober up so quickly, and then, once the crisis has been dealt with, I never in my life saw anyone go back to being so drunk so quickly.
It really was uncanny. I looked around for Allen Funt, but he wasn't there. I think he might be dead, come to think of it.
Anyway, I really do like to feel useful. It's all a matter of perspective, of course. What to one person is an obvious manipulation, a blatant advantage being taken, to another person - my lovely self in this case - it's nothing more than an opportunity to feel useful. These opportunities are especially welcome because I never thought they'd happen again.
HatGirl says that I should stop defining myself by what I mean to others. My response to that is that I can't think of a better measurement.
I'm just rambling now. I went to Denny's after we left Jack's, and I thought it was a lot later than it was. So now I'm wired because it's only 2:16 instead of 5:16.
If time flies when you're having fun, I guess that means it drags when you're miserable?
I didn't think I was miserable. I thought I was in a pretty good mood - it's the feeling useful thing - but I guess I was wrong. Maybe I was so miserable that I somehow looped back into a happy place.
The thing that I can't seem to get to stick in my head is that there's nothing I can do.
I didn't do enough before. No matter how hard that is for me to accept. Even though I did so much, more than I'd have thought possible and more than most people would have done, I simply didn't do enough to be good enough.
During, I did too much. I was honest and forthcoming. Too much of each, because I was also hurting. In shock by the suddenness and the brutality of what was happening. I should have taken the time to let things digest. But, I didn't. I screwed up and I let my emotions take over. Oops, right?
And after? After, I don't know what's been going on. I've either been doing too much or too little or the exact right amount, but it doesn't matter, because it's been out of my hands, and it's still out of my hands, and I wish I could accept that fact instead of forgetting it every 10 seconds. Instead of always trying to do something, anything at all, to fix this.
I'm doing it right now, with this entry. Trying to fix things.
Wasting my time, some would say.
Standing my ground, others might counter.
I get so damn impatient sometimes. You'd really think, after all these years, that patience would be something I'd be really good at.
You'd be wrong.
I have this competitive side. Not a lot of people see it, except when I'm shooting pool, but it rears its ugly head every now and then for other things. Bowling. Horseshoes. Euchre. Darts.
Darts is what caused it to awaken tonight.
The first game, OtherDave was kicking my ass at first. I couldn't get the damn house-darts to fly straight, let alone in the direction I desired. I think he closed out everything except bulls before I closed 20s.
But, I found my elusive alignment, and I came back and I won that game. Via luck, OtherDave insisted.
The second game was a joke. Although I really was trying, OtherDave constantly accused me of fucking around as I mowed through the scores, easily winning by a score of about 11,000,000 to zero.
The third game, I threw one dart to his three darts per turn. Once I'd closed everything but bulls, I switched to throwing left-handed. I don't think OtherDave noticed - he was too busy trying to find the dartboard along with the proper words to describe his new hatred for me.
"Teach me a lesson," I implored. "I'm being a real dick right now. Make me regret it."
But alas, it was not meant to be. I won that third game as easily as I'd won the second, just with two-thirds fewer darts. And opposite-handed, at the end.
I can certainly be a dick sometimes, because of my competitive side, but I always try to make up for it in other ways.
Like tonight, I paid for his beers.
I'm not all bad.
I remember writing something, a long time ago. It wasn't here in this blog, I don't think. I think it was somewhere else. Somewhere that no longer exists.
There's a lot of that going around these days.
I went, in an instant, from feeling useful to feeling used, from feeling needed to feeling taken advantage of. That instant is when it happened. It was a Monday night when the walls of my false reality crumbled and crashed at my feet. March 23rd, 2009.
I lived in a place of hope, and dreams, and love. But it was all a lie.
I worry about the things I'll write when I feel like I have nothing left to lose. I wonder why I don't feel that way already. Perhaps there are still lies waiting to crumble.
I'm sure it doesn't seem like that big of a deal, to anyone close enough to me to know what's going on, or I guess what went on would be more accurate. These hypothetical friends and theoretical stalkers heard or read my tale, and they probably yawned a little.
Well, I was there. And I didn't fucking yawn.
It's all about context, see. One person's distraction can be another person's reason for living.
And now, those same friends and stalkers would probably expect me to be angry today, having been ever-so-briefly shown the light, only to be (apparently) thrust again into darkness.
Perhaps, soon, I will be angry again. But not today. Today, I'm mesmerized by the afterimages of what I saw.
I've got this annoying urge to write something this morning. I just feel like I should write something. Shit happens, and I write about it. That's the way it's supposed to work.
Well, some shit happened. And, like I said, I feel like I should write about it.
But I don't want to, at least not until I figured out exactly what happened. And definitely not until I figure out if it was a good thing or not.
I guess I can say that I don't think I'm as sad as I was a couple of days ago, and a couple of weeks ago, and a couple of months ago, and a couple of years ago. At least, I don't think I am. I dunno. Maybe I'm worse.
Oooh! I just thought of something!
There's a tornado inside my head!
The last few times that I've awakened so suddenly and been unable to get back to sleep, it's been a little different. The last few times, I've known exactly what it was that woke me up.
Either a stray thought, or a snippet of a dream, about the one person in all this who is truly innocent. I have my thought or my dream-snippet, and it latches onto my brain and simply will not let go. Its claws grab hold and, for minutes or hours, my brain simply isn't capable of any other thought.
Maybe this is progress, this knowing. Hard to tell, maybe this is just the eye of the storm.
I'm not sure. It feels better to know, even though these thoughts keep me just as awake as all of the unknown torment did before it. At least this is reasonable. At least this is expected. At least this is normal.
I think that the thing is, out of all the anger and the sadness and the longing that I've done, there's one thing that I don't think anyone could begrudge me for doing.
I miss that kid, and it's perfectly reasonable for me to do so. If I didn't miss him, I don't think I'd be human.
So Sunday morning I found myself afflicted with a bad case of wanderlust. I didn't really know where I wanted to go, I just knew it had to be somewhere that wasn't New Albany. I looked at Nashville and Indianapolis and even Chicago, but eventually decided on Covington. It's not a big city, but it's got everything I need, especially distance from home.
I called KittenDamsel and invited her along. She declined, saying she'd had a long night. Then she said she might drive up there and meet me. I took this as "No way am I going to Covington" because that's how my brain works. Oh well. More beer for me then.
First thing I needed to do, however, was buy a laptop. I'll need this for when I travel, whether it's for work or play. When my former employer eliminated my position, they had the nerve to take their company-owned laptop back. Imagine that. So I stopped at Best Buy, looked at their selection, and bought an el-cheapo Compaq that would suit my meager needs. Thusly armed, I drove to Covington. It's only a two-hour drive.
After I'd arrived, and updated RockGirl with my location - RockGirl knows everything about my life - I settled into my usual Covington routine. I checked into the Holiday Inn, threw my shit into the room, and walked across the street to Skyline Chili for lunch. Yummy. Then I walked up to The Cock & Bull for a couple pints of yummy Moerlein OTR (463). While I was there, drinking my beer and watching a baseball game on TV, KittenDamsel called and said she was on her way. Yay!
I had some time to kill, so I went back to the hotel and messed with my new laptop for a while until KittenDamsel arrived. She wanted to hear polka music for some stupid reason, so we drove over to the Hofbrauhaus in nearby Newport and had dinner. I don't like that place. Not only is it too loud, it's too loud with polka music. The food was good, though.
After dinner, we walked across this purple bridge spanning the Ohio River, and dicked around there for a while. Then we drove back to the hotel, parked, and walked up to the MainStrasse area where all the bars are. After that the night got a little blurry. I know that I had three more OTRs (523) and a couple Newcastles (13818) as we walked around to various bars and clubs. It was a nice warm night, but not too warm. It was almost perfect, in fact. Especially the company. We drank too much, but neither of us got sick, so that was good.
Monday morning we were both a little hung-over. Not surprising. What was surprising was that KittenDamsel wanted to go to King's Island, a local amusement park. She'd already called in sick, and I certainly didn't have any reason come home right away, so to King's Island we went.
This was the first time I'd been there since I was 14 or so. It's much bigger now, and maybe not as crowded, and there were no dinosaurs to be seen. It was a fun few hours, except for that last roller coaster that went upside-down and made me queasy.
It was a really nice time up there. I'm really glad that I went, and I'm really glad that KittenDamsel could make it. She almost managed to distract me from thoughts of LaptopGirl. Almost. And I think I almost managed to distract her from thoughts of her ex-boyfriend. Almost.
It was kinda weird to spend all that time with her and then have to drive home separately, but oh well.
Oh yeah, I also bought a case of OTR and brought it home. So that gives me something to look forward to.
I can't remember ever being so tired, even last week with all of the ridiculous insomnia.
We had quite a fun weekend, if I do say so myself, and I do say so. But wow am I tired now.
In fact, I think I'm too tired to think straight, left alone write anything.
One thing I did want to say, though, is that when you get motion sickness from a roller coaster, and then you almost immediately get into your truck and drive for two hours, that motion sickness stays with you for the entire drive. It's not as much fun as I make it seem.
And the other weird thing is that I still don't feel like we're a couple. Probably because we're not a couple. Too much baggage on both sides.
It was a good day. Long, but good. Started at about 4:00 this morning at Denny's, and ending I hope very soon.
I was supposed to have Indian food with HatGirl, but she wasn't feeling well. I was disappointed about not getting to see HatGirl, but I hadn't been particularly looking forward to Indian food, so I guess it all worked out.
Problem was, I'd gotten myself all motivated to leave my house, and so I had to come up with some other reason to do so. I tried to book a hotel room in Covington. I was going to surprise KittenDamsel with an invitation because we were supposed to go there last weekend. But Covington was all booked up. I tried three hotels and there were no rooms available in any of them.
Next I tried to just book a room at the local hotel/casino, but they were booked, too.
We ended up going down to the casino anyway. We did some gambling - I managed to turn $100 into about $105 playing blackjack - and we stuffed ourselves silly at the buffet. I was disappointed that their Asian noodle salad wasn't on the buffet today, but their Asian meatballs were, so I stuffed myself on those and kung pao chicken and moo goo gai pan. KittenDamsel had fish, because she's boring and stuff.
There was also beer consumed at their Legends bar. I had some Newcastles (13774) and she had some swill, because she's boring and stuff.
Later, what was supposed to be an hour long nap somehow turned into an almost six-hour nap. We have no idea how that happened. KittenDamsel was extremely late in meeting her friends, and I was extremely behind in my phone-glaring quota for the night.
So we parted company. I went to Rich O's and, after I'd glared at my phone for an hour, felt better. The Marzen (11568) didn't hurt matters either. It was quite crowded at Rich O's, survivors from some beer thingy they'd had in Clarksville. Most of the regulars were there, and some of the irregulars. I didn't really talk to anyone except NotHideousGirl and UPSDude.
After Rich O's closed, I came home. I've been glaring at my phone ever since, so I think I've satisfied my quota. Tomorrow it starts over again.
I can't help but wonder, When am I going to say that enough is enough?
When will I stop? When will I give up?
It's the most annoying thing, being so stubborn and blind, and knowing that I'm being stubborn and blind, and relishing in it because the alternatives are unacceptable.
My eyes are wide open, and still I don't see. Still I cannot see. Still I refuse to see.
When will I stop? When will I give up?
When will I die?
This is not a life. This is a death. Prolonged and stretched almost to the point of indiscernability, but a death nonetheless.
This was on HatGirl's facebook page. I'm bored. Here you go:
Think back to June, who were you in a relationship with?
What are some things you do when you're mad?
Write. Drink. Shoot pool.
How's your mood?
Today it's mostly numb. And tired, as always.
When is the last time you saw number 2 on your top friends?
Hmmm, I only have the one facebook friend, and my number two friend on myspace is someone I've never seen in person. Next question, please.
When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in their face?
I'm not like that.
Honestly, if you could go back and change something in the past 5 months would you?
Without a doubt.
Three hours ago, were you touching a person of the opposite sex?
Where did you get the shirt you are wearing?
Hard Rock in Cleveland.
Did you kiss or hug anyone today?
What are you listening to right now?
Where were you at midnight last night?
In my basement shooting pool.
Does anybody hate you?
Did anyone yell at you today?
Are you happier now or three months ago?
Three months ago. Feels like a million years ago.
Is there something you're looking forward to this month?
I'd like to get my swing fixed.
Are you texting anybody?
Not at the moment. Most of my texts are with HatGirl or OddlyFamiliarGirl.
Are you a jealous person?
I have my moments.
Has anyone said they love you today?
Not that I know of.
What is your favorite color?
Blue I guess.
What color are your eyes?
Do you think you have made a difference in anyone's life?
I'm certain of it. Usually, I hope, the difference has been for the good.
Whose car were you in last?
Besides my own, I think it was probably HatGirl's car.
Whats the wallpaper on your cellphone?
Nothing at the moment.
Where do you think your number 1 is right now?
It's HatGirl. She's probably on her way home from work.
Think back to yesterday, what were you doing around this time?
Do you believe that love lasts forever?
Yes. This is not necessarily a good thing.
Do you like fruity or minty gum?
Fruity I guess.
Do you prefer to shower at night or in the morning?
When I wake up.
Are you taller than 5'5?
Will this weekend be a good one?
Don't know. I'm guessing not.
Does anyone call you babe or baby?
Not that I know of.
What is today's date?
How often do you listen to music?
When I'm driving.
Did you cry today?
Nope. Me big strong man. Me no cry.
Do you trust all your friends?
Some more than others.
Who's hoodie did you wear last?
Don't know that I've ever worn a hoodie.
Is there anyone who understands your relationship status?
What are you doing tomorrow?
Have an interview with a consulting firm, then I'm hoping to have lunch with HatGirl.
Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now?
I don't think so.
When you say you don't care, do you mean it?
Do you know anyone with the same name as you?
First name, yes. Last name, yes. Entire name, no.
Do you hate the last guy/girl you were talking to?
What makes you happiest?
If you could move to Africa would you?
I'd go for a long visit, but not permanently.
How has this weekend been?
It's Thursday. Last weekend was just okay.
When is your birthday?
Is your hair naturally curly or straight?
Do you try hard in school?
I didn't have to try.
Do you look more like your mom or dad?
When's the next time you will talk to the person you like?
Where did your last hug take place?
Have you ever done something you promised yourself you wouldn't?
Too many times.
Be honest, who texted you last?
OddlyFamiliarGirl, asking if I wanted to meet at Rich O's.
This time last year, who did you like?
Do you think anyone has feelings for you?
Do you have feelings for anyone?
Who was the last person you cried in front of?
It's been a while. I think I might have almost cried when I finally told LaptopGirl how I felt about her.
Have you ever been called heartless?
I don't know if that particular word has been used to describe me.
Has anyone ever told you they loved you, and you didn't believe them?
Not that I can remember.
Do you like late night phone conversations?
Yes. StupidGirl and I used to have them al the time.
Think of the person who has hurt you the most in the past year, who is it?
Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today?
Don't know that I've heard any music today.
Did you dance today?
Who was the last person that called you?
Some dude about a job interview. Before that, HatGirl.
Who did you last tell that you were gonna hurt them?
I'm not like that. Probably when I was a kid I said something like that to someone.
What's the last thing that bothered you?
This stupid insomnia I've been having.
Would you change yourself for someone else?
I think it just happens.
Have you ever experienced a crazy ex?
Not sure that I'd call any of my exes crazy.
Do you like to cuddle?
Will you be sleeping alone tonight?
Do you like the person you are becoming?
Nope, I suck.
Do you think you can last in a relationship for 6 months or more?
You're thinking about someone, aren't you?
Did you say "fuck" today?
Probably to the bartender at Bearno's while we were watching tennis on TV.
Who was the last person you rode in a car with?
KittenDamsel sometime last week.
Who was the last person or people you ate with?
DoableGirl this morning.
What was the last beverage you drank?
Drinking a glass of water right now.
What is something you really want right now?
To get my sleep schedule back to normal.
Do you ever wonder how other people see you?
All the time.
Honestly, do you really love the last person you said I love you to?
Without a doubt.
What is your opinion on the movie Twilight?
Never saw it.
Do you have freckles?
What does the last text in your inbox say?
OMW (OddlyFamiliarGirl saying she was coming to Rich O's)
If there was one person you could push of a cliff who would it be?
I'm not like that.
Do you always answer your phone?
I dare you to tell why you kissed the last person you kissed?
Because she's hot.
Are you shy?
Its four in the morning and you get a text message, who is it?
Not sure why, but a text at that hour, as opposed to a phone call, and I think it would be LaptopGirl. And then I'd have a heart attack.
I'm at Denny's early today, or maybe I'm here late last night. Whatever, it's 3:49 right now, so it's something fucked up.
It's very crowded here right now. And LOUD. At least 90% of the noise is coming from the corner booth, and at least 99% of that noise is coming from one person, a somewhat round girl who I shall call Loudy McLoudandfat. Her cackling is threatening to liquefy my bones. That would be gross.
The remaining 10% of the noise, itself almost ear-splitting, emanates from a group of
guys dorks playing some kind of trivia game at the center table. I'm fairly certain that sexual favors are being wagered, and that they don't really care who wins the game, because they'll all get to "win" later in the parking lot. Hint hint wink wink.
And finally, over in the corner, is an old guy, as quiet as I am and probably as miserable as I am because of these auditory assailants.
My plan, such as it was, was to come here and scribble out a quick entry, then have breakfast with DoableGirl. My plan, such as it was, did not include arriving at 3:45 in the flipping morning. So now I've got to improvise. I've got at least another hour to kill, and I don't know if I've got an hour's worth of words inside me, straining to escape. I guess I'll find out.
It's hard to stay in a writey mood in this place. Usually it's too quiet. Sometimes, like this morning, it's too loud. It's weird, though, that I can sit in a bar and write for hours but in this place even 15 minutes seems too long. It's not that different from a bar.
Anyway, earlier tonight I was thinking about my readers. Not any of my specific readers, but my readers in general. My generic readers.
Some of you people have stuck with me for years. Out of habit, possible, the inertia of interest that's long since faded. Or maybe that's not fair. Maybe there's still genuine interest out there somewhere, a curiosity, perhaps, about what exactly the fuck happened.
Those readers, the curious ones, are owed something. There's a debt there. There's always been an unspoken agreement. I write about my life, and people read it. Well, I haven't been holding up my end of the bargain lately, and I know it. The more that people read my irrelevant drivel, the more into the red I sink.
I fear, however, that this is a debt which will never be repaid in full. There are too many things about which I simply cannot write. Too many feelings to be hurt, too many fingers to point, and too much blame to assign.
See, this blog isn't about me, and it hasn't been about me for a very long time. It's been about something else. A feeling or a desire or a question or an answer, all intertwined and all pervasive. Everything that I wrote was about that. Everything, even if it didn't seem that way to those of you reading. And now it's got too stop. It's become just too damn intense.
Luckily, this blog is no longer about that thing at all. Now, it's about trying to survive even as I wonder if I want to survive.
And, as long as I'm being forthcoming, nothing I've written has been written for me, or for you generic readers out there in Internetland. Nope, all of it, every single word that I've written in the last half-decade, has been written to and for one very specific reader. A reader who is probably wondering, as she reads this sentence, "Is he talking about me?"
Of course I am, silly girl. And that also has to stop. Again, way too intense.
Now, where was I going with all this drivel?
Doesn't matter, because my date is here. It's about time. I'm starving.
I'm such a damn hypocrite sometimes. Like when I claim to not believe in fate except regarding this one tiny thing, and regarding this one tiny thing I base years of my life on faith that it's meant to be.
Make up your damn mind, Dave.
So here's the deal. Maybe I've been wrong. Maybe I've been wrong about fate, and maybe I've been wrong about this one tiny thing. Maybe it's all been random, or existing only in my head, or maybe there is fate, and what's happened is exactly what fate had in store for me.
It's a tough pill to swallow, being wrong. Wrong about a life. Wrong about a love. Just flat-out wrong about the only thing that has ever mattered to me. The only thing that, I fear, will ever matter to me.
So, having accepted the possibility that I've been wrong, what am I supposed to do about it?
Nothing. Not a damn thing.
Wait to die, or maybe wait to live. Maybe I've been right, and I just need even more patience, and maybe I've been wrong, and patience is irrelevant. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I do nothing, because that's what she wants from me right now.
And I hope that others will follow my example. There's been too much meddling and too much drama already.
It's time for peace to prevail.
I'm at Denny's again this morning. I guess it's becoming a habit, though I hope it's a short-lived one. I'd much rather be sleeping, you know, like a normal person.
I came here hoping, after I'd eaten, to write something good, but I ended up eating breakfast with DoableGirl and that seems to have disrupted the flow of whatever creative juices I possess.
Pretty girls should always take priority.
Remember when the glaciers covered all of the land that would someday become Canada, and a lot of the land that would someday become the United States?
Well, right after those glaciers retreated Northward, back to where they belonged, that was the last time I talked to MixedSignalGirl.
That was exactly what I needed.