First, some snippets from a February entry:

It changes a man, to see a beautiful face distorted by pain. To see it over and over and over and over and over. To stand helpless and watch the tears flow.

To watch a wonderful soul harden, and to feel your own soul harden with it. Not from pity or compassion or even love, but simply because your souls are irrevocably bound.

I failed her so badly. I failed myself so badly.

And my punishment for that failure is severe, but I deserve so much worse.

It's Sunday. I should write something. Not because it's Sunday, but because I haven't written anything since Friday.

What to write what to write what to write?

I don't even know. I get these little snippets of ideas every now and then, but they hardly ever turn into entries. Usually because they're too stupid.

Like today, I had this thought that the formula for my life had been proven false, and so I was searching for a new formula.

Barf, right?

Even I can do better than that.

So I don't know what to write. In a little while I'm going to eat and then I'm going to Jack's. Maybe after I get a couple beers in me I'll have an idea.

You either do it or not. There is no try. It's either there or it's not.

It's never off in the distance somewhere, so you can see it coming. Nobody ever says, "I don't trust you right now, but next Tuesday should be great."

Trying to trust is like trying to fly. No matter how fast you flap your arms, you're not going anywhere. And you look like an idiot.

It's one of the easiest things to lose, and one of the toughest things to get back.

Sometimes trust can be regained, but it will do so in its own sweet time. Don't bother trying to rush it, you'll only make things worse. Same thing with trying to use guilt.

It can't be reasoned into existence, either, because it's a heart thing, not a brain thing.

Oh, and everything I said about trust also counts for forgiveness.

What is on your desktop wallpaper?
It's a picture of the beach at sunset. It's nice.

What is your favorite zoo animal?
I like the big cats.

What was your favorite toy as a child?
We couldn't afford toys. I had a stick that I was quite fond of, though.

What food do you eat too much of?
Pizza.

What kind of hairstyle do you have?
A boring one. I get out of the shower and shake.

What was your favorite activity in gym class?
Volleyball.

What is on the shirt you are wearing right now?
A stripe.

What is the picture nearest to you of?
HatGirl.

What kind of salad dressing do you like?
Italian.

Whats your least favorite food?
Beets. What are those things, anyway?

What do you do on a Sunday night?
Lately I've been having dinner then going to Jack's. Sometimes Becky comes to Jack's and we drink and talk and stuff.

If you could only use one condiment on your food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Does salt count? If salt doesn't count, then why not?

What color are your sheets?
White with green stripes in the guest bedroom, gray with dark gray stripes in the main bedroom.

How big is your computer display?
It's a 22-inch widescreen. I like it.

What pair of shoes do you wear most often?
My sneakers that I just bought.

What is your favorite game?
Pool. Duh.

What is your favorite Thanksgiving food?
Turkey without mayo.

What is your favorite pizza topping?
Cheese.

What time do you plan on waking up tomorrow?
6:40 AM.

What is your favorite day of the year?
I guess my birthday. Or maybe HatGirl's birthday.

Tonight I took this survey on facebook. I should do a vlog about this. Maybe I still will.

Have you ever had a person close to your heart lie to you?
Yes. It sucks.

Do you think you take responsiblity for your part in problems that arise in relationships?
Often I think that I take too much responsibility.

Do you blame others for the whole mess?
Only when it's their fault.

Is there really a such thing as NORMAL?
I hope not. That would be really boring, I think.

What is the definition of Love? (besides 1 corinthians)
(This was straight out of my blog) I think that love just might be when every possible type of attraction exists at the same time for the same person. That's why it seems so damn overwhelming and confusing.

Have you ever made an extreme decision without support from anyone?
Yes, if doing otherwise would have gone against who I am as a person.

Do you believe in repeat patterns in family, life, and relationships?
Not sure what you mean.

How do you know if your crazy or sane?
I have a good idea.

How much of who you are today was brought on by how you were raised and the circumstances surrounding you?
The circumstances surrounding me made me the way I am.

Have you ever tried to do something good and right only to have hate thrown back at you?
It's been happening a lot recently.

Have you ever had to make a decision that would change everything? If so what was it?
I didn't answer this on facebook, but it's probably okay to answer it here. One time I decided to tell the love of my life that she was the love of my life. It was supposed to change everything, but it ended up not changing shit.

Have you ever lied to your best friend or significant other?
Not for at least a decade.

Have you ever felt completely and totally alone?
Yes.

Have you ever argued with God?
I don't think so. I've had some cross words with Him, though.

Do you believe that love can grow slowly, or do you believe it happens imediately?
I think there's room for both kinds. I have experienced both kinds.

Have you ever felt like you ruined someones life?
I've felt that way at times. Fortunately, I was wrong.

Do you understand yourself, and how others percieve you?
I understand myself fairly well. I have no clue what other people think about me.

Over the last several months, it has come to my attention numerous times, that I should have accepted the fucking offer.

Heh, the fucking offer. That's some funny shit, right there.

But, I didn't. Then, I didn't again. And, finally, I didn't again.

I think that's the correct count of the times I started out being a good guy and ended up being a dumbass.

And, after each episode of retardation, I resolved that the next time it would happen, and then I'd be able to deal with the consequences easier because I'd be wearing a big goofy grin on my face.

But, it never did happen. This was never about that, though. Not for me. There were bigger fish to fry and all that.

But, I ask myself over and over and over and over and over, since when did my desires matter?

Yep, I definitely should have accepted the fucking offer. Every time it was made.

It would have been good.

And now that my entire life has been reduced to nothing more than a series of memories, it would be cool to have those particular memories in my head.

Man, I was such a dumbass. A good guy, but a dumbass nonetheless.

I wonder what I would write, if I were to write anything relevant.

I dunno.

First thing I'd need to do, before I let myself get anywhere near my computer, would be to figure out exactly why I was writing in the first place. I mean, would it be something that I needed to write, lest the pressure of not writing explode me. or would it just me something that I wanted to write, in which case who the fuck cares what I want?

I can resist the latter urge. I usually resist it, anyway. But I'm not so sure about the former stuff. I don't have much success with suppressing my needs, unless you count when I bury them in metaphors and such.

I'm bored right now, in case you didn't guess that already.

Okay, now I'm not only reposting entries from years ago, now I'm reposting an entry from fucking July. And it was a repost to begin with.

This is what's become of me.

Anyway, I like this entry, and the one contained therein. And I was thinking about this stuff tonight, so there.

---

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.

So this guy from work went to Las Vegas last week. I don't think he did it to piss me off, but I don't know him really well so maybe.

I haven't been to Las Vegas since my birthday weekend last February, and I was already getting antsy before my coworker went there. Now I'm at least double-antsy, or maybe even triple-antsy.

The next opportunity I'll have to take any long trip is after the first week of November. I'm seriously thinking about just going ahead and biting the bullet and buying airfare and reserving a room, probably at Luxor this time.

It might turn out to be a little irresponsible, but dammit I deserve a vacation after all this bullshit.

So I didn't go out of town over the weekend. Not unless you count my trips to Louisville on Friday and Saturday nights. And I don't count Louisville, just to be clear. Especially since I don't remember much about Friday night. I think there was Jager involved. Then last night I went to Jack's with OddlyFamiliarGirl, and Jack's definitely doesn't count.

I didn't go anywhere, but I managed to get myself a little refrigerator and some new shoes. So that was cool. Especially the fridge. Get it?

And now I'm faced with a decision. I spent eight months with basically no food in my house because I had no cold place in which to store it. Now I've got such a place, but there's very little room. After filling the thing with beer, there's enough room for maybe a couple of large pizzas, and that's it. The freezer part of the thing might hold a box of Hot Pockets, if I use a hammer.

Tonight I'm thinking that I'll go to the store and get some food. But I don't know what to get. Maybe some cheese.

I never said this would be interesting.

I'm constantly bombarding myself with a million questions, but there is one that hits the hardest.

What to believe?

Do I believe the words? Do I continue to try to be a friend, or at least act like one, when I'm not being met anywhere close to halfway? Words can be lies, you know. The craftiest of words can even fool the speaker. When that happens, the listener has no chance. It's either ignore the words, or be made a fool.

Perhaps, I tell myself, I should believe the actions. But that can be folly as well. Actions may speak louder than words, but they often speak gibberish, and they're so very subject to misinterpretation. They never say anything, they only imply. And I, being the way that I am, I almost always infer the worst. It's only been my mind's own sense of self-preservation that's kept me from doing so recently.

What am I supposed to believe when the words say one thing and the actions imply the opposite?

And the part that's really fucked up is that one day's truth can be the next day's lie. Minds can change, or be changed, and all I can do is try to keep up. Watch and listen, interpret what I can, and try to do what's right. I seem to be failing at that, but I really am in the dark here. I don't know the rules, and I don't even know the name of the game.

I don't like games.

I like honesty, even when it's brutal.

I'd rather be stabbed in the heart than shot in the back.

I found myself for a while, Thursday evening. I was hiding about an inch below the fading head of my second glass of Marzen. I should have stopped drinking right then, or at least slowed down. But I didn't. I went ahead and finished that glass at a normal speed, and by the time that beer was gone, so was I. Like I'd never been there at all.

I've been very elusive these last few months. Sometimes I've gone weeks at a time, searching in vain. I really shouldn't squander opportunities like I did Thursday evening. It might be a long time before I get another chance. Hell, it might not ever happen again. I am changing, after all. That part of me which was destroyed in the Spring, and which is slowly being rebuilt, will almost certainly not be as it once was.

I'm not sure that I've ever really described myself with any detail. What I've meant for the last six years when I've said that I was looking for myself, or what I've meant when I've said, on those rare occasions, that I'd managed to find myself. It may be beyond description. I just know me when I find me.

The real me is able to cope with this, basically. To sit and think and just deal with it. Without being overwhelmed into insanity, and without resorting to stupid distractions which mask the pain but do nothing to lessen it.

Because, let there be no doubt about it, this does hurt. A fucking lot. And I need to hurt, and I want to hurt. I've gone through so much for the right to hurt. I've given up so much, of my life and of myself, for the privilege of feeling this pain. I want to experience it, but I don't want it to control me.

And this morning, as I write this entry, it's trying to control me. I have to stop writing now.

I keep opening up a window to type something, then I close it. This, right now, is the farthest I've made it. Two - make that three - sentences. So yay for that, I guess.

I really want to get out of town this weekend. I haven't gone anywhere in like two months. I should just go, and then once I get there I can worry about what I might be missing back home. Drama and shit on at least two fronts.

And it's not like I'd be on Mars. If I go to Covington, or Noblesville, I'll only be a couple of hours away. And even if I go to St. Louis, that's only five hours.

I should just fucking go.

But I probably won't go anywhere. Just like I probably won't buy a fridge or new shoes. All of those things require motivation, and I'm using my entire supply of that just getting out of bed every morning.

I want to get sad tonight. I want to sit in my garage and drink some Marzen and bring myself right up to the very edge of babbling and weeping insanity. But I don't think it's going to happen.

I think I'll just stay my regular kinda depressed self, but that true sadness will be beyond me tonight.

The guy treats her, from everything I've heard, like the princess that she is. Oh sure, I would have treated her the same way, and I did treat her the same way, but that brings me to my next point.

She's happy with him. And there's more to being happy than just being treated right. Whatever that something extra is, he has it, and I might not have it. Not for her, at least. Maybe.

It's very tough for me to admit - it's been six years after all - but I might not be able to make her happy. No matter how badly I would want it and no matter how hard I would fight for it, I might not be able to accomplish it. Intent and desire can only get you so far.

To try and to fail at that task would probably be more than I could bear.

Right now, she is happy. That's what's important. That's all that matters. My own happiness is less than trivial when compared to hers, and it always has been.

I wish them the best, I really do.

If she's happy, then she smiles. And when she smiles, then the world is a beautiful place. So what if that smile's not for me? And so what if I don't even get to see it? Beauty is beauty, beheld or not.

How can I really be sad in such a beautiful place?

I'm experiencing a dangerous urge now, and so I figured that I'd better write something here, where it's fairly innocuous, than in an email, where it would most certainly not be.

Plus, I'm killing some time by writing this. And perhaps the urge to write that email will go away soon. Maybe writing this here will hasten its departure.

I want to call someone out on some bullshit. Partly to show that I know about the bullshit, as I think my knowledge is a secret so far, but mostly to see what the reason might be. I really can't see any reasonable explanation for this particular bullshit, but that doesn't mean that such a reason doesn't exist. I'm curious, I guess.

I'd also really like to see this person's reaction to getting caught. That show would probably be worth any possible price of admission, unless spontaneous human combustion was involved. I certainly don't want to cause that much of a reaction.

I need to think about this some more.

I wonder, how am I supposed to be feeling tonight? This week? This month?

Since it happened?

Not that I'm planning to tweak my feelings to match anyone's expectations, or that I'm going to pretend to be something that I'm not, but I do wonder - maybe I'm normal now.

Under the circumstances, I mean.

That would really be something, to be normal. Even if it was only for a while.

I need to go out to my garage, have a couple bottles of Domaine DuPage, and contemplate this some more.

If I'm normal, then - by definition - there's nothing special about me at all.

I don't think I like the sound of that.

Yet another repost. This usually means that I'm feeling lazy, but this time it just means that I've already said it all before. And hey, building an entry about memories from an old entry seems quite fitting:

For a while, after she got her hair cut, her hand would still move to her shoulder, and her fingers would twirl hair that wasn't there anymore. She did it all the time, and then she'd laugh at herself because she forgot.

I remember how she looked in my bathrobe. How it would never stay closed. I remember hiding the belt so it would never close again, and how she laughed when I told her what I'd done.

She'd take her finger and trace soft circles on my arm, or on my hand, or on my chest. It wasn't enough for her to touch me - she always had to give it that little bit extra.

In my peripheral vision, I'd see her looking at me, and when I'd turn my head and catch her doing it, she'd always blush.

I remember how she'd fall asleep in the car, no matter how short the drive was.

She would grab my hand, and hold it tightly when we had to walk by strangers on the way back to our cars.

I remember the little dance she did once when a song she liked came on the radio.

One morning I woke up to her whispering my name. My cat had finally allowed her to pick him up, and she was standing by the bed holding him. She was so excited.

When she was struggling, trying to think of the perfect words to say, her face would get all contorted, and I'd mimic her expression until she caught me.

She was so very nervous, that first time, and when we were done the sweat glistened on her skin like a million tiny stars.

I remember all of these little things, and so many more. I think that I will remember them forever.

It's such a cruel world that let's me love every single thing about a person, but that won't let my heart take that extra step.

Such a cruel fucking world.

I remember trying so hard to look at her and see only her, but always always always fucking always looking beyond her, over her shoulder. Looking for someone who wasn't there.

I remember coming home that one night, and finding her sitting on my couch, with my cat Nugget in her lap. She'd had a bad day, and she'd known that I'd welcome her no matter what. I owed her that much, after all.

I remember welcoming her.

I remember how hard we tried to make it last, but how it always felt like we were just treading water. Staying alive, but not really living.

I remember that night last Summer. The last time I saw her, when everything was almost exactly as it had been before. Only the new ring on her finger whispered the truth.

I remember everything. This is my gift, and my curse.

I talked to her tonight, for a while. I wish I could say that it was just like old times, but it wasn't. Those old times are gone forever, and we both know it. We just like to relive those times, every now and then. It's nice, in a poignant way. It reminds us that there was once something that was important. And that, no matter how tough things get for the two of us as we struggle to live our separate lives, there is still something that's important.

I walked away from her, years ago. I know why I did it and, by now, so does she. I know it, but I still can't really believe that I did it. She knows it, but she still can't really accept that I did it on my own. That it wasn't her fault. That she didn't push me away.

There are so many things I wish I could forget, so many memories I wish I could erase from my mind. But, among those memories, there's not a single second that I spent with her.

There's this chick who makes a living from her blog. If my understanding is correct, she supports a family of four with her blog. And one of those four is a baby, which of course costs about eleven million times more than a regular person.

That would be pretty cool, I think, if I could somehow make a living from blogging. I'd have to break my own rule about advertising, but the ads on her site are pretty unobtrusive. I think I could live with something like that.

Of course, Heather is a much better writer than I am, but maybe I could get better with practice. And I'd have to get over this whole self-censorship nonsense that I keep running up against, but it's not like I've been perfect in that regard anyway.

It's giving me something to think about, that's for sure. Something else, that is.

I'm always looking for words, it seems. Magic words.

Mostly I've been looking for words to fix us, to undo some of the damage that's been done to us, or by us. Some turn-of-phrase that will somehow make everything okay. Or better than okay, when I'm feeling really ambitious, which isn't too often lately.

Speaking of lately, something's changing.

I'm still looking for magic words. I know they're in there somewhere, sneaking around in the dark, but quite often lately I've been looking for a different set of words. Lately, I haven't been looking for words to fix us, I've been looking for words to fix me.

These words may prove to be just as elusive as the old words have been. But I need to at least look. I need to dig around inside my head and, if that doesn't work, then dynamite may be necessary. I need these words.

I worry about myself sometimes. I see myself on my death-bed in forty years or so, and I see myself still glaring at my phone. I see myself wondering if she'll visit my bedside. I see myself wondering if she'll come to my funeral.

Sure, it's kind of nice to have all that to look forward to, and to believe that I'll never really go back to the emotionless robot that I used to be, a little more than six years ago. But I also realize that it's pretty pathetic. And I don't want my life to be pathetic, not any more than it's already been.

The words may not exist. Maybe it's time that I really need. That's what a lot of people have been telling me. Or perhaps I need a distraction that eventually becomes something more than a distraction.

Well, time has never done me any good before, and distractions, despite my best efforts, continue to be fleeting. So I'll put my faith in magic, because magic is real. That was proved to me, a little more than six years ago. Maybe, when time and distractions fail, maybe magic will succeed.

Today, I've got stuff I'm supposed to do. I keep putting it off and I don't want to do it any more.

I need to buy a damn refrigerator. I need to buy shoes - some for work and some for walking.

And, since I'll have a refrigerator, I need to go to the grocery store.

I never said this would be an exciting entry.

I wonder, these entries, are they my memoirs? Is this blog going to end up being the means by which people finally get to know me and understand me? Will Neisha burn it all to DVD and hand out copies at my funeral? With Dina make a scrapbook? Will Teri overcome her loathing for funerals and show up at the thing? Will anyone else care at all? Will anyone else notice at all?

Will Rich O's stay in business without my constant support?

I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Hell, I could die of old age tomorrow and it wouldn't surprise me at all.

Is this going to be my legacy?

It'll be a pretty fucked up legacy, if that's what it ends up being.

Way more questions than answers. Lots more crypticism than clarity. And a fuck of a lot more silence than anything else.

---

"I had a fantastic year."

That's what I said. And I really did italicize the word fantastic because anything less would have fallen short. Anything less would have been a lie.

I had us stand up, and then I said those words, and then I kissed her. This was no surprise at all. I'd been giving fair warning for weeks. There was plenty of time for her to "get sick" or to "have other plans" or to "just not feel like it."

But there were no last-minute excuses. There was only that time, and that place, and two of us all alone in that crowded room.

People tell me all the time that it's all in my head.

Fuck people. I was there.

That was supposed to be it, see. I had no plans or intentions beyond the end of that kiss. I would have gladly died at the end of that kiss.

But that wasn't the end of it. There were another couple of minutes, the first two minutes of the new year.

When I was about 19, I was swimming at the pool at Scott AFB. There was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 years old, and he got himself into trouble in the deep end. I just happened to be there. It's not like I jumped in to save him or anything, though I like to think that I would have done exactly that. But, in this case, I just happened to be there and I just happened to be the closest person to that kid.

He grabbed onto me, and he clung to me. He clung to me for dear life, for salvation. Every instinct he had focused onto that simple action of clinging to me. Waiting for me to save him, putting his life into my hands and trusting that I'd do the right thing.

The next time that anyone clung to me so fiercely was years and years later, after I said those words to her, and after I had kissed her ever so gently. I was not expecting it. Like I said, I'd had no plans beyond the kiss. But then, suddenly and brutally, I found another person's life in my hands. And I found trust in the weight of a beautiful head against my shoulder. And I found that there's no limit to love, because just when you think you've reached such a limit, it explodes.

People tell me all the time that I'm exaggerating.

Fuck people. I was there.

People are wrong.

---

There.

Now that's worthy of being a fucking memoir.

Trying to figure out what I should write, if anything. I get so sick and tired of my mood flapping back and forth. I don't want to write anything and then have it turn out to be false by this time tomorrow. I hate it when that happens. It makes me feel like I should put a disclaimer at the beginning of every entry.

This entry, and the feelings and/or hopes and/or circumstances described herein, while accurate at the time of posting, may no longer reflect reality at the time of reading. For this reason, speculating or wagering as to my current state of mind, based on the information gleaned from this entry, is not recommended.

Today, I am struggling with the same old stuff. It just keeps getting worse and worse, and I'm having a really tough time maintaining anything even remotely resembling hope. But I keep trying, because I need to have hope in my life, at least for now. I don't want to go back to the way I was, but it's a very real possibility these days. Except that this time it will be worse, because I'll know what's missing. Back then, I didn't even know that anything was missing, let alone what that thing might be.

I had a nice conversation with MixedSignalGirl the other night. She had some opinions and theories that I hadn't thought of. Opinions and theories that might help me to get through all this, if I can cling to them fiercely enough. And if I can convince myself that they're not just another set of lies that I tell myself in a futile attempt to rush through this healing process.

I need to write more about this. Maybe later.

LaptopGirl pointed out that today is the first anniversary of the day that my friend WomanRepellant died. I don't feel like writing anything new about that, so I'll just post links to the entries I wrote a year ago.

This first one, I wrote the day before he died, and this one, I wrote immediately afterwards.

Okay, here's the deal.

My text messages weren't working tonight. So, while I got some, I don't know if they were from tonight or if they were from months ago, as they claimed.

In either case, my response remains the same.

This was not my goddamn choice, the way things have been lately. This was, in fact, the last thing I ever wanted.

I am not the bad guy here.

Reasons are reasons and excuses are excuses, but which is which?

This is not my call. It's out of my hands.

So there is flooding, but that doesn't affect my house, because I live atop Mt. Dave.

But something happened. A strong rumble of thunder or something, because the large framed picture that I keep above my fireplace is lying on the floor.

And that's not all. I really wish that was all, but it's not.

Also - and it's going to be hard to write this - also one of my Marzen glasses is broken. It shattered into a couple-dozen pieces.

That glass was given to me by LaptopGirl last Christmas.

So it's priceless and irreplaceable.

Just like she is.

Weird annoying. I'm finding myself at a total loss for words. I mean, I know exactly what I want to say, as long as I don't have to actually say anything.

It's just so damn clear to me, but the words either don't exist or they're really fucking good at hiding in my head. I can think them and I can feel them, but I can't articulate them.

I need to say something, but I find myself unable to say anything at all.

And dammit, this is important. Way more important than anything I've written in a long time. Maybe ever.

"How can I give this up?" I want to write.

"I can't give it up, it's everything to me," I want to continue.

Those words are nothing nothing nothing. The tip of the iceberg. A hint of an inkling of a notion of the truth.

Infinite is only a small portion of the whole. Forever is just the beginning. Unconditional is much too restrictive.

The words that I've said, the things that I've done, the feelings that I've felt - they're all just symptoms of a much larger truth.

Maybe the words really don't exist, to describe this. Maybe you need to look into my eyes, read my mind, feel my soul.

Or, maybe I'm drunk.

Go ahead and think that's all it is. It's easier.

I got a whopping hour and a half of sleep tonight, so I was all energized and shit. Now I'm bored and I took a quiz thingy.

I like that word. It fits so well with so many things in my life. I should probably change my middle name to Inordinate. I never liked Shane that much anyway. Plus, then my initials would be DIS and so maybe I'd be all hip and shit. Or is that DISS?

I think I want someone to tell me that it's okay to be pissed about the way I'm being treated. I fall so easily into anger over it, but then I always feel guilty. I spend an inordinate amount of time feeling guilty.

Tomorrow another weekend begins. I remember when weekends meant going to Rich O's and spending an inordinate amount of energy watching the door. Those were such different times back then. Hope ruled my entire life. But this weekend I probably won't go there at all. It's no longer a good idea for me to go there at night, for lots of reasons. People think there's only one reason, but people are wrong. It's not only because I'm being a baby. That's not even the main reason. Maybe I'll write an entry about this stuff, some day.

And I heard from TremensGirl that MusicalYuppieDude is having a party this weekend. I can't go to that either, even if he does get around to inviting me.

Saturday I might get to see HatGirl, if she doesn't flake on me. She's so busy all the time, I'm incredibly flattered that she thinks enough of me to pencil me in. She's one of the world's best people, and I spend an inordinate amount of time wishing that I was a better person, so that our friendship might be better justified.

In fact, she should be the one I'm in love with. That would make sense to everyone.

I don't write about work in this journal. I think that most people know that. I don't want to get dooced, after all. But I started a new job this week, and maybe that deserves mention.

There, I mentioned it.

It's after 3:00 in the morning, and I'm not really sure why I'm still awake. I spend an inordinate amount of time being awake.

I should try to go to sleep now.

When I was driving to work(!) this morning, there was a storm. It's been all over the news, even the national news. Louisville even made the front page of weather.com.

It rained. A lot. Like six inches in an hour, I think I heard. There was a lot of flooding.

But not in my basement.

So that's cool.

Tonight I don't know what it was that woke me up. Another damn dream, I imagine, but I don't know for sure. Maybe a mouse farted - sometimes that's all it takes. And, once I wake up, that's it. A thought or a series of thoughts gets into my head, and it gets into my soul, and it grabs and it twists.

As I once wrote:

Today, it's neither the pain of the past nor the agony of the present hammering away at my mood. Nope, today it's the future, of all things, that torments my thoughts.

The thing about the future is that I'm not really sure there's going to be one.

I don't think it would come as a surprise to anyone who knows me. I'm in a fucked-up situation these days.

I spend an inordinate amount of my time looking for, I dunno, something.

For what exactly, I can't say, because I don't know what it is. I think that I might be looking for what's left. Something that survived that terrible flood. A recognizable chuck of debris on the bank, perhaps. Just something to remind me, though I could never forget.

The rest of the time, I wait.

For what? Again, I don't know. I don't know what it is, but I'm waiting for it right now.

Back then, I survived that flood, and I found what I was looking for. I found much much more than I thought I'd find, and I was actually happy, for a long time. Me, of all people.

But then a new flood came. A more terrible flood. And this one is still flowing, rushing, ripping.

Last year, I was knocked to my feet, and I stood up, and I was knocked down again. And again. And again.

This time, there's no sense in trying to stand. There is no ground anywhere beneath my feet.

This time I'm trying to stay afloat.

I'm looking at these lines from a post I did a couple of months ago.

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 fear the vacuum, I really do. It was never there before. There was always something before, whether it was false or not, it was something.

Now, not so much.

First, the walls crumbled. That was bad enough. But now all of the air is being sucked away.

Isn't the point of living about having something you care about, that is important to you? Isn't it about having something left to lose?

If there is truly nothing left to lose, then what's the fucking point of living at all?

The other night I was thinking about fate. I've written before that I don't believe in fate, but then I also wrote this:

This series of events and emotions that was set into motion all those years ago, there is a reason. I just don't know what that reason is. Perhaps its purpose is to destroy me.

So far, so good.

I'd also guess that, on each one of those 12,000 days, I probably saw a pretty girl, or two, or three. On some days I saw the same girl(s) I'd already seen, and on some days I saw someone new.

So, maybe 12,000 different pretty girls that I've seen in my live.

And out of all those times, this happened once? When I saw her?

What the fuck?

Approximately 2,146 days ago, 2,146 girls ago, in the span of about two seconds, my entire life changed. It has never been the same since, and it will never be the same again. No matter what else happens, I will never be the same again.

I don't believe in fate. I think that fate is a silly concept, and that it implies things that I find unacceptable about the uselessness of life. I think that people use the concept of fate as a crutch, as an excuse for not having things turn out the way that they wanted, or as feeble justification for doing things that would otherwise have no justification at all except for stupidity.

I don't believe in fate, but I really want to know why that happened, approximately 2,146 days ago.

I'm trying to keep from knowing the time. So I don't know how late it is, or how early it is. I don't know if I'll sleep again tonight. I doubt that I will.

I did sleep, for some undetermined amount of time. I slept, and I had a dream, and I woke up.

That damn dream.

So I'm not looking at the time. I know it's there, down in the bottom right corner of my screen. I'm refusing to look. I don't want to know. Fuck, I start a new job sometime in the next undetermined number of hours and, instead of sleeping, I've spent two beers worth of time out on my deck with listening to the crickets and the owls and the stobors. I've spent the last two beers worth of time trying to forget the dream.

But it's a futile effort. It always is. I remember every word she said, in the dream. I remember every word I said, in the dream. I remember what happened next, in the dream.

That damn dream.

I mean, what if I look at the time and it's only 1:00 or some bullshit like that? Then I'll be so fucked. No way will I be able to function all day tomorrow until quitting time. Oh sure, maybe I could look and it's 6:00, and maybe my alarm is about to go off anyway. Then I'd know that I could survive. I've survived worse, after all.

The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. The truth always seems to be somewhere in the middle.

That damn truth.

This is probably a bad idea. I shouldn't be writing now, because I'm pissed. We'll see if I can hold myself in check and stick to the subject at-hand.

That first weekend, I was really itching to do some sightseeing. I hadn't gotten bored with the snow-covered Chugach mountains ringing the edge of Anchorage, but I definitely wanted to see something more. Something else. Something new.

Well, I'd seen mountains, and I'd seen snow, and I'd seen frozen smog, and I'd even seen frozen seawater by that point, but one thing I hadn't seen was a glacier. Kind of hard to believe that, given all of the natural wintry beauty around me. When I'd first arrived, I'd thought that I wouldn't be able to take a piss without hitting glacial ice, but I was wrong.

Alaska's number one visitor attraction is the Portage Glacier, about an hour South of Anchorage. Given the fact that I only had about five hours of daylight within which to play, I left the apartment early on a Saturday morning, just before the Sun came up.

You know how people, usually when they're stoned, are always saying stuff like, "It's not the destination, it's the journey that's important?"

Well, maybe those stoners have made the same trip I made that day. Every 10 feet, I wanted to stop my car, get out, and try to take it all in. Mountains, frozen beaches. Icebergs the size of houses, eagles and seagulls. Everything was new to me, and everything was just amazing to me.

Like, there was one stretch of road. I came over a small hill, and saw an icy beach to my right, and mountains to my left. At the side of the road was a yellow sign:

Avalanche Area!

No Stopping!

And, sure enough, there seemed to have been a recent avalanche. On both the left and right sides of the road, there was a wall of snow and ice about 20 feet high. It had been neatly cut to allow for the road. Very damn cool.

And every mile or so there'd be a damn moose standing at the side of the road. Surreal. The whole trip was surreal. The whole place was surreal. Me being in fucking Alaska was surreal.

Instead of taking an hour to get to the glacier, it took almost three hours. I kept stopping and getting out of my car, feeling that if I was outside then the experience would be that much more real to me. And cold. Mustn't forget about the cold.

There was an actual visitor's center there. For some reason I hadn't been expecting that. That stupid building contrasted starkly with the natural beauty all around it. So I only spend about a minute inside. Just long enough to pee. Then I went back out into the cold and along this trail next what I suppose was the Portage River.

That was kinda funny - you couldn't even see the glacier from the visitor's center. All that was in there was maps and dioramas and shit like that. To get to the actual glacier you were supposed to get back in your car and drive for a while longer.

Fuck that. I walked it. I walked along the shore of the lake for what seemed like forever, but there were gobs of icebergs keeping me company. I also met a few people coming the other way, and they all assured me that (a) the actual glacier was up ahead of me, and (b) they hadn't seen any bears.

So I walked and I walked and I walked. The trail switched from a sidewalk to a dirt path to a dirty swath of packed snow. It was a long and cold walk.

But it was worth it.

Now, there have been several times in my life when I really wished that I had a camera with me. When I finally came around that last bend in the trail, and found myself staring at the glacier, that was definitely one of those times. But alas, I didn't have a camera. Oh well. I figured I could just buy a postcard at the visitor's center. Plus, if you've seen one glacier you've probably seen them all.

And I'd finally managed to see one.

Yay!

I might have been able to climb up on the thing. There were chunks of ice ranging from the size of toasters to condominiums, but by then it was getting close to dark, so I walked back a short distance to this boat ramp place and talked one of the tourists there into giving me a ride back to my car.

It was a fun day.

I forgot to buy a postcard.

A few days ago someone - MisunderstoodGirl, I think - posted this to facebook. I was thinking that I'd do a vlog about it, but I don't feel like putting clothes on right now, so I'll just type my answers. How quaint.

If you could, at this very moment, take a ride on anything in the world, what would you most want to ride?
A dragon. Also, I'd like dragons to exist.

If you could get one thing back that was either lost or destroyed, what would it be?
The second car I ever owned, a 1979 firebird. It wasn't that great of a car, but I liked it, and I went through a lot in it. Whenever I dream about any of my old cars, it's always that one.

What is one item you own that has virtually no monetary value but has such sentimental value that you would not sell it for $1,000?
My rock, of course. Duh.

If you could know without a shadow of a doubt the answer to one question that has always troubled you, what question would you want to have answered?
Is there any point to any of this?

If you could bring back any tradition that seems to have faded into the past, what tradition would you bring back?
Knocking cute girls on the head and dragging them back to the cave. It just seems like our current way is a lot harder.

If you could open your own retail store, what type of merchandise would you sell?
Probably pool & billiards supplies. Or maybe books. I dunno, I can't really see myself running a retail store of any kind. That would be boring to me. Wait, do bars count?

If you could have any book instantly memorized from cover to cover, which book would you choose?
I think a World Almanac or something like that, with lots of facts.

If, with your safety guaranteed, you could experience something very dangerous, what would you want to experience most of all?
If my safety was guaranteed, then it wouldn't be very dangerous, would it? Anyway, I think climbing Mt. Everest would be cool.

What is one field or profession that you never persued, but that you think you probobly would have been quite good at?
Anything scientific. Astronomy, perhaps.

If you could invent a pair of glasses that would allow you to see abstract things, what would you want to be able to see most of all?
A person's aura. Kinda like in that movie Shallow Hal.

Every single time, it happens. Every single fucking time. I see, and it happens. I hear, and it happens, I smell or I touch, and it happens.

And I can't describe it with any clarity, and I can't endorse it with any understanding, and I can't espouse it with any eloquence, and I can't dismiss it with any abruptness. I can't I can't I can't I just fucking can't.

It's just fucking there. It just fucking happens. It just fucking is.

Why?

That's the question that I ask myself every 10 seconds. That's the question that everyone on Earth asks me every chance they get.

"Why?" they ask.

"Fucking just because," I reply.

Eyes meet, and circuits close. Words are exchanged, and energy flows. Auras merge, and affection glows.

And, every now and then...

Hands touch, and desire grows. Skin slides, and lust shows. Lips meet, and love overflows.

Why?

Sometimes I wish we would just talk about all this. Not discuss and not debate and certainly not argue. Not lie and not predict and not dismiss and not make excuse after fucking excuse. Just talk.

I guess it's because I'm a man. I always think that things can be fixed. Even when they're not really broken. I constantly look for the words to make everything okay, and I constantly ignore the fact that okay may be too lofty a goal.

Lately though, more and more often, I've thought about eschewing words, and letting actions speak my volumes for me. For us. Words, after all, have done zero good.

Perhaps it's time for action. Perhaps it's too late for action. Fuck, perhaps it's too late for anything.

The way I see it, there are two times when I absolutely should not be writing here. One of those times is when I'm sad.

I know, I write when I'm sad all the time. It's par for my particular course, I guess. But the deep sadness that I sometimes feel, I don't write during those times. I'm too busy trying to breathe and keep my heart beating. So you guys are spared the really depressing stuff. You're welcome.

The second time when I shouldn't be writing anything is when I'm pissed.

Like right now.

There are so many things that I want to say. So many accusations that I want to level. So much pressure that I want to vent. So much truth that I want to fucking scream.

But, I shouldn't be writing when I'm pissed, so I won't. You're welcome.