So let me get this straight. These two guys are going to the flipping White House to have beers with the flipping President of the flipping United States, and they've chosen Red Stripe and Blue Moon.

A Jamaican pale lager and a pseudo-Belgian. That just seems so sad to me. It's like they put zero effort into their choices at all.

And the flipping President has chosen Bud Light.

And most of the people at Rich O's, myself included, voted for the guy.

If I ever have a beer with the flipping President - any day now, I'm sure - it's going to be an Alaskan Smoked Porter.

My brain tells me that I should be writing something now, before I go back outside to cavort with the stobors. Of course my brain has no idea what I should write, so I guess it's up to the rest of me. My fingers, perhaps, because my heart is all tapped-out, and my dick isn't much for words. It's more of an action dick.

I'm not really sure when it was that I became wise. Sometime over the last few years, I think. It's like I stopped getting birthday presents and started gaining wisdom. Or at least a very good imitation of wisdom. Good enough to fool most people, including my lovely self a lot of the time.

I found myself today in the most unlikely of conversations, giving the most unlikely of advice. Unlikely, that is, unless you actually know me, and not many people do. Lots of people think that they know me, but they're wrong. I'm a better person than many people give me credit for, and I'm a worse person that many people suspect. I'm a person, is I guess what I'm saying. If I were 100% good I'd be some kind of supreme being, and if I were 100% flawed I'd be a dipshit, but I'm somewhere in the middle, just like almost everyone else.

Anyway, today I found myself in a conversation about relationships. Because I'm some kind of expert, I guess. It's like quitting smoking; I've done it a million times it's so easy. Well, I haven't quite had a million relationships, but I've had my share. So maybe that makes me wise in a way. I dunno.

I'll paraphrase from today's conversation, in which I pretended to be wise:

Every new relationship seems perfect. But then it turns out that everything isn't quite perfect, and people get disappointed and they start to question the entire relationship.

Every relationship in history has followed the same pattern. Sometimes they last beyond that initial disillusionment, and sometimes they don't.

I think back to the relationships that I've had. Not all that many, really, and except for the ones that were doomed from the start, they've all followed that pattern. Not many have made it passed that first round of disillusionment, but the ones that have, the ones that have lasted have all been something really special to me. They're still really special to me.

I'm in one of those relationships right now, and even though I know that almost everyone on Earth would say that I'm in no such thing, I will say without hesitation that almost everyone on Earth is wrong. We are in a relationship, and we've made it passed that first disappointment, and the second and the third, and the fourth.

But we're still here, in one widely varying form or another, we're still here.

Doesn't that mean something? Shouldn't that mean something?

Isn't this supposed to be the goal?

Because, as I said today in my unlikely conversation, Perfection doesn't exist, so shouldn't a relationship be more concerned with surviving imperfection than with seeking perfection?

Am I the only person who sees this?

When I was about ten years old, I felt an earthquake in Southern Indiana. It was a very mild one, and I might not have noticed it at all if my grandmother's hutch hadn't started rattling.

Then, in 1994, I felt an earthquake in Seattle. This one was a little stronger - it kinda felt like a very heavy truck had rumbled off the road and then lightly smacked into my building.

In 1996, the day after I'd arrived in Alaska, I was sitting in a chair in the living room of my Anchorage apartment. I was taking a swig of soda from a can, and I leaned back to get the last few drops.

The next thing I knew, I was on my back, and the chair was on top of me.

The news said it was an earthquake. To me it seemed more like an earthjolt but I'm no seismologist. Whatever else it might have been, it was certainly a harbinger of things to come.

During the months I spent in Anchorage, I never went a week without feeling at least one earthquake. Some weeks would bring as many as three or four. None were ever particularly strong. Even that first one hadn't been more than a 5.2 or so - it had just caught me off-guard and off-balance.

Most days I worked in the customer's building, but every now and then I'd have reason to visit my own company's Anchorage office. Calling it an office was a bit of an overstatement. The company had been founded in Anchorage, but had relocated to Seattle at some point, and there was only one permanent Anchorage employee. A nice girl named Brenda who did everything from sales to accounting to first-level customer support to sweeping up at the end of the day.

She didn't like earthquakes very much. So I had a lot of fun walking heavily around the office, making the floor creak and the partitions sway. I never could see Brenda when I did these things, for if she'd been able to see me that would have ruined the jokes, but I liked to imagine that she crawled under her desk every time I did it.

Good times.

---

One of the things that struck me as funny about Anchorage was actually one of the more depressing things. People are always yammering on and on about how beautiful it is in Alaska. And it certainly is. Words are inadequate to describe some of the natural beauty I saw up there.

But one of the most beautiful phenomenon was actually man-made, though I didn't know it until Brenda told me.

See, it was so cold up there that the actual smog would freeze.

Frozen smog would coat the leafless limbs and branches and twigs of every tree. It turned every tree into a crystalline work of art. It wasn't like the ice-coated trees I'd seen before. Nope, it was fuzzy and delicate. Just really really pretty stuff.

Caused by air pollution, but still one of the most beautiful sights in one of the most beautiful places I'd ever seen.

MusicalYuppieDude and I working on building a HatGirl sandwich.

I was up there to work, of course. Because I was, at the time, the only single engineer at my company, I got to do all the traveling. I liked it. I'd already spent half a year in New Orleans, and I'd probably never have made it there otherwise. Double-ditto for Alaska.

My days always began at about 6:00. I'd get all bundled up and I'd go outside to start the car. Then I'd go back inside, take a shower and stuff like that, while the car heated up and the windows de-iced. If I was lucky, I'd be able to do all of this without the old man shuffling down and knocking on my door. He always asked me if I wanted any coffee, but I never wanted any.

During that time of year, the Sun wouldn't make an appearance until 10:00 AM or so, and then it would be gone again by 2:00 PM. Anchorage lies South of the Arctic circle, so it never quite gets down to zero hours of daylight in the Winter, and it never quite gets to twenty-four hours of daylight in the Summer. I know that those four hours of daylight did me a world of good. Just knowing that the Sun was shining outside, even if I couldn't see it from my windowless room.

Anyway, I'd go to work. This particular project was interesting to me, but probably not to anyone else, so I won't dwell on it. Except to say that static electricity and computers don't mix, and that Alaska in the Winter is so cold and dry that static electricity is a huge problem. I felt like some kind of super hero, the way the sparks were constantly shooting out of my fingers.

I totally forgot to mention the snow. There was about three feet of the stuff on the ground. Whatever had fallen since September or so was still there, joined layer-after-layer by new stuff. It was Alaska in January. Of course there was snow. I'd actually been expecting more, but people said it had been a dry Fall.

What got me to thinking about the snow was the seagulls.

You know how, back in the real world, when it snows they plow the parking lots and they usually leave a pile of snow somewhere kind of out of the way? Well, in Anchorage they do the same thing, except the resulting piles of snow are usually two stories tall and fifty feet in diameter.

One day I was standing outside work, smoking a cigarette, and there were some seagulls playing on the wind currents around one such mound. That's the only word to describe it - they were playing. Hovering at the top of the pile, where the wind was strongest, then diving down the other side, sometimes even turning somersaults in the air, and then going back and doing it again and again. It really was a cool thing to watch, and I bet I stayed out there for an hour, wishing I was a bird, because that really looked like fun.

Working all day was, of course, annoying. There I was in fucking Alaska and I couldn't do any sightseeing because it was always dark when I wasn't working. So my excursions to check out the natural beauty of the place would have to wait until the weekend. My weeknights were mostly spent shooting pool at the Billiard Palace. Back then, I would occasionally gamble a few dollars on my pool games. I'd win some and I'd lose some. Mostly I won, I think, except for this one dude who was a lot better than I was but I kept playing him because he was a friendly sort.

Remind me to tell you about all the earthquakes.

Here are three totally unrelated things that piss me off.

---

Brown-nosed idiots.

At least know someone well enough to form a knowledgeable opinion before you bury your nose in their ass.

---

"Incapable of supporting life."

Life can exist in the most unlikely of places. You people are scientists, you're supposed to know this. Read some books by Robert L. Forward if you need a refresher for your imagination, and then stop saying stupid things.

---

Typos.

Like the one I had in the title of this entry for over six hours.

It's funny that I'm calling this part one. That implies that there'll be additional parts. But I seriously doubt it. I'm really taxing my brain as it is, thinking about and writing about something that happened so long ago that it's almost folklore by default.

Anyway, it was 1996. Dinosaurs roamed the Earth, and primitive mammals spent their days scurrying to and fro and counting the days until they'd be in charge of things. I know. I was there. I was one such mammal.

I arrived in Alaska on January 2nd. It was my second trip to Anchorage, but the first one of any consequence or duration. I think the previous visit had been in the Spring of 1994, and it had only lasted a few days.

I wish I'd paid more attention. But, back then, I was too busy scurrying. And avoiding dinosaurs. And watching the sky for comets. And being cold.

I've looked at the weather pages on the internet, and I can't find confirmation, but the high temperature that first day was nineteen degrees below zero, according to the television lady. I remember that she was quite cute, as if that matters.

I spent my first night in a hotel. A Holiday Inn or some such. There was a brewpub in the hotel, and they had a pumpkin ale. Back then, I wasn't into beer at all. I mean, I knew that there was beer that I liked and beer that I didn't like, but I hadn't yet formed any theories as to why any one particular beer might be categorized one way or another. I was pretty sure that I didn't like lagers, and I was starting to suspect that I liked ales, but I'd gone no further that those two preliminary hypotheses.

So I had the pumpkin ale, and it was fucking yummy. Unlike anything I'd had before. I had three or four more.

But I digress.

The next day, my coworker arrived. He took over the hotel room, and I moved to the apartment that my company had secured. Fine with me. Mainly I just needed a place to smoke and watch TV and sleep, and an apartment seemed like a better place than a hotel. I don't know why.

The apartment was in the walk-out basement of a house in the center of town. There was a dude living in the house, and I knocked on his door to get a key to the apartment.

Anybody remember the old Captain Kangaroo TV show? Okay, remember Mr. Green Jeans from that show? Well, the dude who owned the house/apartment looked exactly like Mr. Green Jeans. But he didn't act like Mr. Green Jeans. Nope, this guy was between seventy and three-thousand years old, and, because of senility or brain-freeze or something, had the mental capacity of a turnip.

At first, I tried to make myself feel better by imagining that the dude was just a partier who was drunk all the time, but by the third or fourth time that he'd managed to wake me up by shoveling snow at 4:00 AM, I knew better.

I'm digressing again, dammit.

It was fucking cold.

The weather page on the internet is no help, but the hot lady on TV assured me that, for the first three weeks I spent in Anchorage, the high temperature was eighteen below zero. Then, on or about the 20th of January, it shot up to seven below zero.

Woo-hoo!

T-shirts and shorts became the uniform of the day. All over Anchorage, alabaster skin competed with reluctant sunlight in a contest to see which could cause the most blindness. Me, well I continued to dress like a normal person who was freezing to death - a cheechako in Alaskanese - with my coat and glove and boots and the like. I did learn an important lesson that day, though. For me, the dividing-line between cold and fucking cold is at ten degrees below zero.

There is a difference. There really is. At ten below zero, I can function. At eleven below zero, I might as well be a chunk of ice that won't melt until June.

In Anchorage, they say, there are three seasons each year.

Winter lasts from late August until April or so. Next is Breakup, during which the snow and ice decides that it's maybe time to start thinking about melting and forming puddles. The more disgusting the puddles, the better.

The third season is road construction, and that lasts from the end of Breakup until the beginning of Winter, or for about a week and a half during late July and early August.

Wow, I've already written more than I expected, and I haven't even gotten to the good part yet.

Stay tuned for part two if I ever get around to writing it.

Still giving my brain a vacation. It deserves a vacation. These are my fingers talking now. Hi! We're drunk, I think!

Tonight was cool. We built a fireplace thingy in the driveway, and we made a fire therein, and we drank some beer.

These are Dave's fingers, signing off for the night.

Once again, I'm simply letting my fingers twitch against the keyboard, giving my brain a rest. My poor brain, it's been so overworked lately. Trying to fix things or at least figure them out. Nothing to show for all that effort, though. Things are still just as broken and confusing as ever.

---

Anyway, I totally want to go somewhere this weekend. I want to go to Indianapolis, but that would be weird. SassyGirl wants to go to Oregon, but that would be even weirder. Although, I guess if we went to Oregon, we could stop in Omaha and I could see some of my friends there. Like my old friend Mike, who I talked to the other night, for the first time since early 1994. Boy did he have some catching up to do.

---

This week my phone's been ringing off the hook about job opportunities. None have panned-out yet, though. I'm still fairly hopeful. This morning I got a call about a job for which I'm not particularly qualified, but one of my former coworkers is qualified, so I forwarded the contact information around. That was my good deed for the day.

---

Thanks to some informal surveys, I'm now even more convinced that I am not being weird about this. I already knew that I was acting reasonably given the fucked-up circumstances, but it's nice to have confirmation, especially when it's from people who are smarter than I am.

---

I'm starving to death now. I'm always starving, but then I never eat much.

So, just sit and let my fingers type whatever they want, huh?

That seems like it should be easy. One might think that I'd be a little worried about the words that might spring forth, but I'm really not. I've pretty much said everything already. Dropped my pants, so to speak.

There is one more thing, actually. One more thing to say, and then I might be done. Not that I'd quit, mind you, but I'd have to start repeating myself over and over and over even more often than I already do.

Not an accusation, though that's how it would be interpreted. I'm not sure how I'd get around that. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, after all. And this would be denied until the end of time, at least out-loud, when people were listening. There'd probably be umbrage. And outrage, even.

I'm also afraid that it would come off like a called marker. But that's absolutely not what it would be. This is not about something I've earned, and it's not about a favor owed; it's about an opportunity for honesty.

Would I get that honesty?

I seriously doubt it, and that makes me sad. Because if I've earned anything at all, if I'm owed anything at all, it's honesty.

I close my eyes, and I see it. It blinds me. In the stillness between heartbeats, I hear its defeaning roar. In the pause between breaths, I smell its intoxicating aroma. Between swallows, I taste its juices. And, every time I relax, I feel it. Caressing me. Massaging away the aches and the pains of living.

I stopped being overwhelmed a long time ago. Callouses formed. Strength developed. Resistance wilted and died.

Thoughts are stones. Feelings are rapids. Disturbing the tranquility of the stream, but not the flow. Never the flow. Take away the obstacles, and the stream will barely notice. It will flow as it always has. Try to dam the stream, and it will find a way. Nothing can stop it. Nothing.

I wonder what has happened to me. I wonder what is happening to me. I wonder what will happen to me.

(This is a repost from six months ago. I don't feel like saying anything new, because it would be pointless today, but I do feel like saying something.)

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.

I remember, but I wish I could remember more.

I remember Dad getting Dina and me out of bed, carrying her and half-dragging me to the living room.

I remember the TV, and the grainy pictures thereon. White-suited men bouncing around a white rock-strewn plain. An oddly-stiff flag neither waving nor sagging nor flapping. I remember Mom giggling about something or other, almost uncontrollably.

When they showed that flag, that was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. And it was the last time, for almost nineteen years. Until my mom's funeral.

I wish I could remember more about that night, forty years ago.

But I was just a little kid, after all.

Tonight I sat at Rich O's with a small group of people, and I noticed something. Before I say what I noticed, maybe you need some background.

I am smart.

Okay, that's enough background.

Anyway, tonight I sat in a group of five people, or to be more specific, I sat on the outskirts of that group, and I noticed that there was absolutely no way that I could consider myself to be one of the brightest members.

This was weird to me, but not unprecedented. It doesn't happen very often, but it does happen.

At least two members of the group were obviously and immensely more intelligent than I have ever been or will ever be. One other was probably tied with me on the old IQ-meter. The last member, while not quite as bright as the rest of us, was still far above average, even for Rich O's. So we didn't ridicule that person, too much, and not intentionally. Subtle sarcasm and even more subtle innuendo sufficed, as it always does.

Besides, my dad always said, "Don't make fun of retarded people," and that advice scales quite easily.

See, there's a difference between intelligence and knowledge. Some people don't get that. Some people are incapable of getting it. We pity those people, but not too openly, because we all know that we're only a few ounces of beer away from becoming just like them.

There. This should count as an entry, shouldn't it?

I've noticed. Of course I've noticed. I've just been waiting for others to notice.

I am no longer allowed to complain that I don't have anything about which to write.

It's all there. All those damn quickies that I write. Up to a dozen or so each day, perhaps. Each one is basically a topic sentence for an entry waiting to be written. Straining to be written.

I need to stop whining, and I need to start writing. Or maybe I should do both.

That's what people expect from me, after all.

So I went to the thingy. I went by myself, though that wasn't my preference. I'd invited KittenDamsel, but she was being weird. Then I'd invited LaptopGirl, but she'd thought I was being weird. This latter situation almost made me want to just stay home and pout, but then I called BadPickleGirl and she was going. Plus I was pretty sure that SpoonsGirl would be there, so odds were pretty good that I'd have someone to talk to at the thingy. Even better would have been if Eric and Teri would have gone, but they had some reunion to go to. Oh well.

I'd decided that Gumballhead would be my beer of choice for the evening. I was going to drive to Clarksville to get some, but BadPickleGirl said that the store right there in Greenville carried it. Even though I was doubtful, that's where I ended up going. BadPickleGirl was right, Gumballhead was available. So I got a warm six-pack of that and also a twelve-pack of Fat Tire and went to Dina's.

There were, of course, a million people there. Most of them I didn't know. But that was okay. I talked to BadPickleGirl and SpoonsGirl and SpoonsGirl's husband for most of the night. Over the course of about nine hours, I had a couple Fat Tires (1354) and four Gumballheads (1190). I talked to the aforementioned people. I watched the other people. I didn't glare at my phone too much.

And there were kitties all over the place. I got to pet some of them, and the youngest kitten did a decent job of shredding my hand as I played with it. I like kittens.

Usually I like to make an early Batmanesque exit from Dina's parties, so I have time to go to Rich O's. But last night I stayed until midnight or so, and I was one of the last people to leave.

I guess that's it.

I just don't have anything to write, but here I sit. I guess I don't like the previous entry being the most recent entry. Because, as I'd predicted and hoped, that particular mood did not last.

The other day LaptopGirl asked me if it would kill me to write a positive entry. I don't know the answer to that question. It probably wouldn't kill me, but why take the chance?

Oh, because she asked, that's why.

I'll certainly try. The next time I'm in a good mood, I'll try to write a positive entry.

I'm in a most unusual mood tonight. Not merely a "weird" mood, as I've so often said. This particular mood is one that I honestly can't remember ever having before.

I just don't care.

Now, this mood certainly won't last. None of my moods ever last. I'm amazed that this one has gone on as long as it has. Since about midnight, I think.

This is not a reaction to anything in particular, or to the lack of anything in particular. There's no anger, or sadness, or frustration, or disillusionment, or confusion, or longing or even lust or even love. Okay, maybe there's some disillusionment, but not a lot. Not enough to explain this mood, now of all times. And there's always love, but it usually defines me instead of simply punctuating me.

There was no impetus at all for this mood. One second I felt all of the above, and the next second, I didn't.

This mood won't last. I don't want it to last. Not forever. Not even through tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning I want to wake up as myself. I need to know who I am, what I am, how I am. I need to fucking recognize myself when I look in the mirror tomorrow.

This person sitting here at my computer tonight, typing this crap - he isn't me. He's just another asshole who stopped caring because it hurt too much. Another dickhead who stopped trying because it was too hard. Another, dare I say, dipshit, who quit the game because he couldn't cheat and get away with it.

Fuck that. That's not who I am.

It's fascinating, though, I won't lie. I never thought there'd ever ever ever ever ever be a time when I'd feel like this again. I walked two miles tonight, towards my old high school, and with every step I took I imagined myself getting closer and closer to...

Well, I don't know what. Something. Some place that I haven't seen in a long time, or maybe ever.

I never got there. Maybe there doesn't exist. Not for me anyway. I tried to explore outside of myself and I found emptiness and loneliness. So, disappointed, I turned around and I walked home.

Tomorrow morning, I'll be me again. I'll love again and therefore I'll hurt again. But I think that the memory of tonight will be with me for a long time. The memory, and the realization that it brings.

Anything is possible, even the impossible.

It always happens this way. I make it one thing or two things into the list of a gazillion things that I want to say, and then the conversation ends. Abruptly.

Questions and comments and opinions and predictions and more questions and more comments, left to smolder inside my head. To fester and evolve into a beast that I can no longer contain.

It's all about the same thing, though. The quest.

The never-ending search for the right words, the magic turn-of-phrase, that will end this bullshit and right these wrongs and, well, fix everything.

There are people who might venture that things aren't broken, but those people don't have my unique perspective, so their opinions don't count. I was right all along, and I will continue to be right, and dammit I'm right at the present.

Alas, long-gone are the days of clubs and caveward draggings. Today, we live in an ostensibly polite and sophisticated society. Today, words are important.

So, I search for the words. Sometimes, I think I find them. I send them forth and, far too often they, like so many of their fallen brethren before them, end up impaled upon the swords of deaf ears, and they are forever silenced.

I'm in a weird mood this evening. In case you couldn't tell.

As it's looking more and more like I'm not going to be finding anything in Louisville anytime soon, it's looking more and more like I'm going to be leaving here for a while. Currently, I guess Cincinnati has the highest probability. That wouldn't be bad at all. It would allow me to come home whenever I felt like it.

Anyway, I'm checking out lodging costs up there. Not good. If I choose something like an Extended Stay, I'm effectively doubling my monthly housing costs. It should be possible to just get a furnished apartment for less money, though that brings more hassles.

I simply don't want to sell my house. I'm being quite stubborn about it. I can be that way.

Plus, the only reason I need to look elsewhere for work is to make my mortgage payments. If I were to sell my house, then I could just get a lower-paying job right here locally. So wanting to keep my house is what's making me need to leave my house. Pretty screwed-up, I know.

I could maybe accomplish the same thing by just refinancing and getting a lower mortgage payment. Problem with that, of course, is that getting refinanced without a job might be tricky.

Of course I can handle it. I'm stronger than people think. But I shouldn't fucking have to handle it. It's not supposed to be happening at all, and it's especially not supposed to be happening tonight.

I haven't seen SassyGirl in almost a year, and tonight, instead of getting to enjoy hanging out with her, I get to always keep one eye on the door and constantly be on pins and needles. I get to wait and wonder how many more seconds or minutes or hours I have until that wave of reality comes washing in to drown me.

I know, life isn't fair. I know that fact better than most people, I'd wager. But c'mon, sometimes it's just ridiculous. Sometimes it's a fucking joke, except nobody's laughing.

UPDATE: Well, reality was nice enough to call and let me know that I needn't expect it to show up Wednesday night after all. And then SassyGirl ended up making a short night of it, anyway, so I was able to come home earlier than anticipated. So, whew!

I spend a lot of time searching for words. I bet most people who do a lot of writing, professionally or otherwise, do the same thing. Oh sure, most of the time I'll just let my fingers pick the words for me, but every now and then they choose poorly. That's when it's up to my brain to get off its lazy ass, stop fantasizing about pretty girls, and do some work.

I've been in this mood since last Friday at least. One of confusion, but that's not quite the right word. One of concern, but that's not it either. My brow has been almost constantly furrowed. There was, I knew, a word for the mood in which I found myself mired, but that word was hiding from me.

I found it last night, about halfway between my house and the Highlander Point shopping center. I walked along the dark road, and I passed a deer. Just standing in a field, as deer so often do. Upon my approach, it turned its body away, but it did not run. It just looked at me, its head turning smoothly. When I'd passed behind it, the deer turned its head the other way, and watched me some more.

I kept an eye on it, of course. Just in case it decided to attack. Do deer have rabies? If the deer had attacked, I supposed I'd have used the time-honored defense method of shitting my pants to gross-out my opponent. But it didn't attack, it only watched me, and then when I was a safe distance away, it crossed the road.

Perhaps it had a date with a chicken. None of my business, and who am I to judge?

For years, my thoughts have been almost constantly churning, my heart has been almost constantly yearning. But for the last few days, there's been something else. I couldn't find the word for my mood, until I looked into the inky eyes of that deer. That deer, watching me walk down the road in the middle of the night, it was experiencing the same mood. The same feeling of confused concern.

That deer was perplexed.

And so am I.

So I'm thinking, once again, that I need to get away from here for a night. I get these itchy feet fairly often. The last time was Friday. I was all set to go up to Noblesville for the night. That's where the Barley Island Brewpub is located. I was craving myself some Dirty Helen and some Barfly on tap.

It's so weird that I like Barfly. I don't like very many IPAs at all. I wouldn't even have tried it if she hadn't asked me to. Now it's one of my favorites.

I ended up staying close to home Friday. That happens all the time, too. I get all fired-up about going out of town, and then I change my mind and end up not going anywhere. Right now, I'm thinking that I want to go to Covington, so that means that, in all likelihood, I'll stay home and maybe just go to Jack's tonight.

I stayed at my house last night. A Saturday night, wasted. I'm pissed about that, but it was for the best, I think.

And I'm so damn tired all the time. And I fubared my neck somehow. And I'm all alone.

And blah blah blah and waah waah waah.

No wonder I usually end up canceling my trips. I don't want to go anywhere with me, either.

Sometimes I get pissed. I wish I could stay that way. It seems more normal to me, and it would probably seem more normal to everyone else. Some people might even applaud.

It started out as a joke. A stupid game I'd play wherein I'd imagine and predict the worst thing that could happen.

It used to be funny, in a weird way. Until it all started coming true. Then it stopped being funny.

I wrote a while ago that I expect to be murdered. That was not a random off-the-cuff statement, it was a prediction. The end-result of a long list of bullshit mistreatment. A totally warranted extrapolation.

The cruelest and sweetest person I know will murder me someday. And I will like it, because I'll serve a purpose to her. An outlet of some kind, I guess.

I like being useful to the people I care about.

I'll probably be smiling when I die. I doubt that I'll be laughing, though, because that could be misinterpreted.

I took a stupid quiz on facebook tonight. This is the video version of my answers.

(I did this on facebook. Not being content with limiting the boredom to that small group of readers, I figured that I'd share it here as well.)

You can ONLY answer Yes or No.

You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages or comments you and asks...and believe me, the temptation to explain some of these will be overwhelming because nothing is exactly as it seems.

Now, here's what you're supposed to do. . . Copy and paste this into your notes, delete my answers, type in your answers and tag as many of your friends as you'd like to....including me!

Let's go!

------- ------- ------- ------- ------- -------
Kissed any one of your Facebook friends? --- yes
Been arrested? --- yes
Kissed someone you didn't like? --- no
Slept in until 5 PM? --- yes
Fallen asleep at work/school? --- no
Held a snake? --- yes
Ran a red light? --- yes
Been suspended from school? --- no
Experienced love at first sight? --- yes
Totaled your car in an accident? --- yes
Been in a vehicle at more than 100 mph? --- yes
Driven a vehicle at more than 100 mph? --- yes
Been fired from a job? --- no
Fired somebody? --- no
Sang karaoke? --- yes
Pointed a gun at someone? --- no
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? --- yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? --- yes
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? --- yes
Kissed in the rain? --- yes
Had a close brush with death (your own)? --- yes
Ever feared for your life? --- yes
Seen someone/something die? --- yes
Played spin-the-bottle? --- no
Sang in the shower? --- yes
Smoked a cigar? --- yes
Sat on a rooftop? --- yes
Taken pictures of yourself naked? --- no
Smuggled something into another country? --- no
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? --- yes
Broken a bone? --- yes
Skipped school? --- yes
Eaten a bug? --- no
Sleepwalked? --- yes
Walked a moonlit beach? --- yes
Rode a motorcycle? --- yes
Dumped someone? --- yes
Forgotten your anniversary? --- no
Lied to avoid a ticket? --- no
Ridden on a helicopter? --- no
Shaved your head? --- no
Played a prank on someone? --- yes
Hit a home run? --- yes
Felt like killing someone? --- yes
Cross-dressed? --- no
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? --- yes
Eaten snake? --- yes
Marched/Protested? --- no
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? --- no
Puked on amusement ride? --- yes
Seriously & intentionally boycotted something? --- no
Been in a band? --- no
Knitted? --- no
Been on TV? --- yes
Shot a gun? --- yes
Skinny-dipped? --- yes
Gave someone stitches? --- yes
Eaten a whole habenero pepper (or other hot peppers)? --- no
Ridden a surfboard? --- no
Drank straight from a liquor bottle? --- yes
Had surgery? --- yes
Streaked? --- no
Taken by ambulance to hospital? --- no
Passed out when not drinking? --- no
Peed on a bush? --- yes
Donated Blood? --- yes
Grabbed electric fence? --- no
Eaten alligator meat? --- yes
Eaten cheesecake? --- yes
Eaten your kids' Halloween candy? --- yes
Killed an animal when not hunting? --- yes
Peed your pants in public? --- yes
Snuck into a movie without paying? --- yes
Written graffiti? --- no
Still love someone you shouldn't? --- yes
Think about the future? --- yes
Been in handcuffs? --- yes
Believe in love? --- yes
Sleep on a certain side of the bed? --- yes
Have a tattoo? --- no
Have/Had a piercing(s) --- no

That was interesting...your turn!

It's not stupidity that keeps me here. Nope, it's knowing the truth, even when everyone else fails to see it. It's speaking the truth, and living the truth, and waiting for beautiful eyes to open so that I'm not alone any more.

It's not cowardice that keeps me from turning away and facing the unknown. It's that the unknown holds no appeal for me. And why should it? The appeal of the unknown lies in its potential, and I've already found all of the potential I could ever want.

It's not weakness. I'm not here because I'm weak, but because I'm strong. I have persevered when others would have given up. I have pushed forward when others would have faltered. Time after time I have exposed my heart to the daggers of reality and, though I've been stabbed, I've never given up and I've never cowered and I've never ran away. I've been right here all this time.

And it's not insanity. Step inside me and look through my eyes. See what I see. Feel with my heart the things that I feel. Use my lips to speak, and use my ears to listen to the words fighting to be heard. Reach out with my hand and touch what I touch, and feel the tingling of a million touches yet to come. This is all very real.

It's not stupidity, or cowardice, or weakness, or insanity. It's something else.

I know what it is. So far, I'm the only one who really knows what it is. What it's like. What it means. What it portends.

So far, I'm the only one who really gets it.

But eventually, there'll be another.

Beautiful eyes will open, and they will see me, right where I've been all along.

1.If your doctor told you TODAY that you were pregnant, what would you say?
I'd probably ask if I could get a second opinion.

2. Do you trust all of your friends?
No, I really wish that I did, but I don't. Not completely.

3. Would you move to another state or country to be with the one you love?
Yes. That's like step 10 in our grand plan.

4. Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
No, but that doesn't stop me from trying to figure out the reason for things.

5. Can you make a dollar in change right now?
Yes.

6. Which one of your friends do you think would make the best doctor?
I'm going to say HatGirl because, when in doubt, I pretty much always say HatGirl.

7. Are you afraid of falling in love?
Afraid of falling out of love.

8. Is there someone who pops into your mind at random times?
Yes. Duh.

9. What’s your favorite scar?
Stupid question.

10. When was the last time you flew in a plane?
To Phoenix a while ago.

11. What did the last text message you sent say?
To LaptopGirl: I have those all the time. (referring to brain-farts.)

12. What features do you find most attractive in the opposite sex?
Eyes.

13. Fill in the blank. I love:
Duh.

14. What is a goal you would like to accomplish in the near future?
Finding a job would be pretty nice.

15. If you were to wake up from being in a coma for an extended time who would you call?
My sisters and then HatGirl and then LaptopGirl.

16. How many kids do you want to have?
One boy and one girl always seemed like a good idea.

17. Would you make a good parent?
I think so.

18. Where was your profile picture taken?
At Rich O's with my blackberry.

19. What's your middle name?
Shane.

20. Honestly, what’s on your mind right now?
Duh.

21. If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be?
I waver on this. I would certainly want to change some things, but I'm not sure how I'd go about doing it.

22. Who would be the maid of honor/best man in your wedding?
Probably Eric.

23. What are you wearing right now?
Jeans shorts.

24. Righty or Lefty?
Mighty righty.

25. Best place to eat?
At the Y.

26. Favorite jean?
Stupid question.

28. Favorite juice?
Orange.

29. Have you had the chicken pox?
Yes.

30. Have you had a sore throat?
Yes. Stupid question.

31. Ever had a bar fight?
Yes. I won.

32. Who knows you the best?
RockGirl knows my deepest secrets. Probably Hatgirl or LaptopGirl next.

33. How did you meet your partner/spouse?
Gotta get me one of those someday.

34. Do you wear contact lenses or glasses.
Glasses sometimes. I've tried contacts but they irritate my eyes too much.

35. Ever been in a fight with your pet?
Only when trying to get them to take pills.

36. Been to Mexico?
Nope.

37. Did you buy something today?
Food, gas, beer.

38. Did you get sick today?
Nope.

39. Do you miss someone today?
Duh.

4O. Did you get in a fight with someone today?
Nope. Got pissed, though.

41. When is the last time you had a massage?
A month or so ago.

43. Last person to see you cry?
Wow. I have no idea. Maybe LaptopGirl?

44. Who made you cry?
Duh.

45. What was the last TV show you watched?
This thing about the Grand Canyon on The History Channel.

46. What are your plans for the weekend?
Spending my lottery winnings. Failing that, probably going to Rich O's.

47. Who do you think will re post this?
I bet HatGirl will.

48. Who was the last person you hung out with?
OddlyFamiliarGirl last night at Rich O's.

49. If your significant other asked you to marry them TODAY what would you say?
Gotta get me one of those significant others.

50. What are you going to do after this?
I dunno. Maybe go out to my garage for a bit.

Seriously, why am I still here? I was supposed to be gone weeks ago.

This is going to be bad. Maybe as bad as the last time, or maybe even worse. Probably worse, I bet.

What planet am I supposed to be from? What species am I supposed to be where I can just blow it all off and be okay with it? Handshakes and high-fives all around.

Bad news: I'm human.

Being okay would invalidate everything that I've said and done for years. But still, I would be okay if I could. Fuck, I might even fake it, if I could do that halfway convincingly.

But, I'm a terrible actor, it seems.

Why am I still here?

And the thing is, I can almost be okay with it. My own desires and priorities have, after all, changed, blurred, whatever. I could be okay, and I only asked for a little help. Like to not rub it in my face, and to not bend me over and fuck me up the ass with it.

Not too much of a request, I don't think. A little goddamn common decency and empathy.

em-pa-thy
noun
1. Identification with and understanding of, or at least acceptance of, another's situation, emotions, or motives.

I want to leave.

I need to leave, to get away from this fucking failed experiment before it sucks me in all over again. I don't want to go through it all again.

Where's the fucking payoff if I stay?

What's the reason for all of this? The rainbow is beautiful, but the pot of gold is forever out of my reach. Set aside for random others. Like they fucking deserve it. Like I haven't proven myself.

I try to be a good guy, and I think that I am a good guy.

But I'm not that fucking good.

Nobody is that fucking good.

The other night, MusicalYuppieDude told me that I should be knighted. I countered that perhaps I should be straight-jacketed.

Telling the truth has turned out to be the worst thing I could have done. How messed up is that?

I've got this problem. It's an incredible urge to write. But I sit down here at my computer, my fingers poised over the keyboard, and all that emerges is drivel.

I'm an ocean held back by a finger in a dike. There's so much in me straining to be released, but it never comes with anything approaching its potential. Just a trickle, every now and then. Just enough to frustrate the bejeezus out of me.

Eventually, I tell myself, something will give. My search for work may provide me with new surroundings. Maybe that will enable me to release this pressure. Or perhaps I'll find something that allows me to remain here at home, but circumstances will change. Or maybe I'll change. Maybe I already have.

Things end so suddenly, sometimes. I used to be kidded about how I was always afraid that each time would be the last. The last look, the last hug, the last kiss, the last word.

I'm looking at a word right now. It's the word "that" in black font on my screen. I'm looking at the word, and I'm terrified that it may be the last. And now, I'm thinking about the last look and hug and kiss, and I'm worrying that they're over forever.

I do worry about these things. I have to. I need to be prepared, because sometimes, I'm right.

I was reading some old entries this morning and this one made me laugh out-loud and scare my cats. Sometimes I think I'm really funny.

I think that if I could pick a mental illness to have, I'd pick Tourette's Syndrome.

That way, when I thought some girl was a whore, I could just scream out, "WHORE!!!!" and then when she got mad I could say, "Sorry, I got this Tourette's thingy. Whore. Slut. Bitch. Oops."

Then maybe she'd feel sorry for me and then the whore would give me some pity sex.

It's just a brief downward flicker, most of the time. A few inches. But enough for me to notice, and enough for her to notice, should she happen to be looking. So far, I think I've caught it in time. Caught myself in time.

Eyes to lips. Just a few inches of smooth skin, down a cheek, along the ridge of a nose. Physically, that distance is very small, but emotionally, it's vast.

Eyes may welcome and engage, but lips, they beckon.

---

Speaking of lips, I like this old entry from 2007:

I'm not really sure which was the first. I've got it narrowed down to two girls, two occasions, but the passage of time has blurred my memory to the point where I can no longer be certain about the order of things. Like, I'm pretty sure that I kissed both those girls after that comet killed all the dinosaurs, but I wouldn't want to bet anything substantial on it.

So I don't remember which was my first real kiss. But I do remember them both. They were passionate, each of them. And full of promises that neither of us was ready to keep. There was none of this sweet and gentle and perfunctory crap that I've been so wont to do lately. To show that I'm a good guy, at least at first. Back then, a kiss was all you were going to get, so you damn sure needed to make the best of it.

I'm pretty sure that I could remember all of my first kisses. I don't mean that I could list them right now off the top of my head, but if I thought about it long enough, I probably could. And if I heard a name or saw a face or had something like that come along to help jog my memory, then I definitely could.

I was thinking tonight about a few of my first kisses. From the drunken and playful and inevitable kiss of that night last Winter, to that fascinated experimental kiss a couple of weeks ago, to that romantic kiss in Las Vegas in June, to that initially timid kiss that somehow lasted an entire weekend in late 2004, to that incredible indefinable kiss a few months earlier that still makes me weak in the knees when I think about it.

I don't know why I've never written about kissing before. About lips. I've written about hands, and I've written about eyes, but not lips. I don't know why. Maybe, maybe kissing just seems too personal, even for me to write about. Maybe hand-holding and eye-gazing are just fine, but kissing belongs in the same realm as sex, and I never write about sex. Nobody wants to read about that - they only want to have it. Maybe kisses are the same way.

Anyway, I like kissing. It's my favorite. I just thought I'd share that little tidbit. You know, just in case anyone wants to make out or something.

Maybe it's just a matter of reigning myself in a little. I've certainly been unable to stop myself, even though quite often lately I've wanted to do just that.

This is an idea I had come to me last night. Apparently this idea was hiding at the bottom of a glass of Marzen (12419). That's a weird place for an idea to be hiding, but I'll still take it.

Wanting something because you feel like you should want it, or because you used to want it, or because you can't think of anything better?

Smells like bullshit to me.

I've been so damn stubborn. I watched everything crumble and I refused to really accept that it was happening. Had happened. Whatever.

Trying to stay somewhat cryptic here, while remaining readable. I don't think I'm succeeding.

The other night I found myself smiling, when I had a realization that there was one thing that hadn't crumbled.

One thing that hadn't changed.

And it never will. And it's the only thing that matters. There need be no expectations to erode or desires to dull. Lust lessens and faith falters and wants wane and hope becomes hazy.

Fuck all that other stuff, all that icing. I really think I can do this. I've already been doing it for years, after all.

I'm not thinking very clearly. It's very frustrating. I can't even obsess over a single thought, like normal. Nope, all I can do is sit back and sort of watch the show, turn my gaze inward and glare.

Nothing fits. No ideas, no feelings, no resolutions, nothing will stick. I don't know what I want, and I don't know what I want to want. My mind rejects everything like water rejects oil.

Well, I guess I do still have that one thing. But I've been suspecting that it's running on inertia, so I don't trust it fully.

I think that I want things to be okay, but I don't know what that means. Its shape fluctuates wildly and it never stays the same long enough for actual desire to form around it.

Wow, I'm really rambling. Like I said, I'm not thinking clearly.

I'm irritated this morning. And worried. Not really sad, though, so that's nice.

I keep trying to write an entry, but none of the thoughts racing through my head will slow down enough for me to catch it and pin it down and dissect it.

I was just reading some old emails, from a year ago. Right before and right after I found out she was seeing someone.

I read one email wherein I said that I expected to have to go through it several times, and that each time would be tougher than the last, but that it would all be worth it eventually. I'd be the one who would always be there when she needed someone, and eventually I'd be noticed.

And now, a year later, I fear that it's all starting again. And I'm not there.

This really sucks.

Maybe it'll storm tonight. That always cheers me up. Must buy some beer, though.

I wish I knew how to fix all this, I really do. Maybe it's so hard because it can't be fixed. Maybe, even after everything that's changed, one thing is still the same. Maybe we're still too lopsided.

The thing that I need to do, though, is figure out what I want. Or, more precisely, what I want to want. Because things have changed, and not for the better.

The solution that keeps coming to me, time and time again, is to pretend that everything is fine. To act like I don't care. To lie, in other words.

I don't like that solution, but I'm starting to see the appeal of it. At the very least, it would give the appearance of balance.

I really want to write something relevant now.

But I won't.

Or can't.

Because I'm drunk. Or very tipsy. I'm at home though, so it's okay.

Hic.

It would have been awesome, though.