Thursday, December 31, 2009
posted by dave at 4:03 PM in category pictures, quickies
I'm at Bearno's, getting some food. Unfortunately-named girl is working.
Why is it that, every time I get on a conference call, my phone starts blinking to indicate a new text message? I can't see the message until this conference call is over. Frustrating!
HatGirl and OddlyFamiliarGirl need to plan their illnesses better.
My Uncle Carl passed away. That's sad.
I may complain, but I'd definitely rather be home and working until 8:00 than be in Bellingham and working until 5:00.
Time to turn in. Into what exactly, I don't know.
SneakyGirl is here!
Been talking to FirstGirl. She didn't even know I'd been gone. She's still nice, though.
I have to admit, it's a brilliant plan. I almost wish I'd thought of it myself.
My neck was sore, so I took a long hot shower. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but it made it worse. What's up with that?
So there are two issues here. One could be solved forever, and it would be fun doing it. The other issue, well that one I'm pretty much resigned to living with for the rest of my days.
Of course I knew it wouldn't last. But I was really hoping that it would at least last until I had to go back to Washington.
Regardless of what happens next, I had an absolutely fantastic two and a half days. I hope there's no doubt about that.
Today, so far, I've done some very odd things, but only as an accomplice.
I should go buy some new jeans. These are getting pretty ratty at the bottom.
I'm so excited to see HatGirl! Only 40 minutes! Yay!
I tried to call HairCutLady. I haven't had my hairs cut in six weeks, and I wanted to see if she was open today. The number has been disconnected. Now I'll have to drive down there. I hope she's okay and still open for business.
I'm home!
Having a layover here. Went outside to smoke two quick cigarettes and almost froze my ass off. Now I'm in a nice warm airport bar having a nice Goose Island beer.
On the plane now. I'm getting excited! Not about the long flight, though.
I'm watching The Notebook. This is a brilliant thing for me to be doing.
For now
I think I've talked myself out of getting an iPhone. For now, anyway. These blackerry outages are sure pissing me off, though.
It's just so surreal to be sitting here. I can feel the years falling away.
Sports Pub
Now I'm at my old hangout. I wish more people I knew were here.
Checking out of this stupid hotel in less than two hours. Guitar Boy in the next room will have to find someone else to annoy.
Another blackberry outage. It might be fixed now - I'm sending this via my blackberry - but two outages in a week? I'm now seriously thinking about getting an iPhone.
A year ago, we were really something. And on our way to something more. Something great. Now, not so much. I liked it better, a year ago.
I should be packing now, but instead I'm glaring at my phone.
Dear Penthouse Forum...
Nobody is here today except me and a couple of receptionists.
Tomorrow morning I get to check out of this stupid hotel.
In less than four days I get to see my kitties. Yay! In less than five days I get to see HatGirl. Yay! If I get to see LaptopGirl in the next twelve days, I can die a happy man. Yay?
I'm craving White Castles now.
Shocked, I tell you!
Too bad I already bought her present.
This dude on TV tells me to, as a gift to the woman I love, call her doctor and schedule a pap-smear for her.
There are certain disadvantages to having my hotel close to a mall.
I'm hoping the little guy has a safe and fun trip.
Mum's the word
I don't feel like saying anything nice, so I'm not saying anything.
Foiled again.
Did something I shouldn't have done. But it sure felt good doing it.
No good deed goes unpunished
I let some drunk guy use my phone to call his wife. That was my good deed for the day. The punishment for my good deed was that his breath funkified my phone and now I may have to get a new one.
What'll they think of next?
I guess I'll just keep doing what I do. Try to muddle through.
I'm just not sure what to do next. I'm so tired of being treated like shit, but I'm also supposed to be forgiving.
I got hopelessly lost, and somehow ended up at this Yummi casino again.
I don't like sluts. Or whores, either.
A glared-at phone never woo-hoos.
I'm showing incredible restraint tonight.
Alaskan Smoked Porter = Yummy.
Dear God
There are too many skanky prostitutes. Please give some of them real jobs so they wear more conservative clothing. Thanks!
I wish the magic wand had worked. That would have been really romantic, if it had worked.
I can't think of anything to write. I'm not sure why I picked up my phone to write something.
I fear that one of the hotel workers stole my Netflix movies from the mail.
So there.
I'm watching American Ninja. It's so stupid it's funny.
This dude just came in, and the bartender called him "Old Man John." I'm glad nobody calls me "Old Man Dave." At least, not to my face. Not yet, anyway.
I've realized that I haven't eaten in over 24 hours. I suppose I'll have some fish and chips. I hope they don't suck.
I'm finally off work! And I got to talk to HatGirl for a long time on the phone! Now I'm having a beer! Yay!
I'm excited that HatGirl gets her birthday present tomorrow! And if she doesn't like it I'm gonna jump into a volcano!
There's a blackberry outage affecting emails. So I won't be able to post any of these quickies once I get to work.
I have an urge to shoot some pool. I know I saw a pool hall my first weekend here. I'll have to find it again.
There may be light at the end of the tunnel after all.
She already does those things.
It's 52 degrees outside!
posted by dave at 4:13 AM in category ramblings

Too many excuses. I'd say that there are a million of them, but I've already been called on using that number too often. It's just another excuse. So, instead, I'll say lots.

And when one or two or a hundred are disproved, there are scores more waiting to take their place. Or, even easier, memory becomes conveniently optional.

I'm supposed to be having fun. Everything is supposed to be a lark.


But it doesn't work that way. Not for me.

For me, this is too important to take lightly. It's my life after all. The only one I have.

And this, this whatever-it-is that keeps me going. I don't even know what to call it sometimes. Stupid hope is usually the term that I employ.

But is hope ever really stupid?

Everyone On Earth tells me that it is, in this particular case. That doesn't make them right.

This is hurting nobody except myself. It's my choice, and I do choose it. Choice is something I didn't have for a very long time, but now I do. Now I have a choice and nothing else has changed.

Anyway, in a little less than 20 hours, this year will end for me. This year in which everything fell apart. This year in which everything continues to fall apart. Constantly crumbling into smaller and smaller pieces.

I can't fucking wait for this year to end.

posted by dave at 3:41 AM in category ramblings

This really blows. But you already knew that, didn't you?

Again, why are you here?

Oh, because you're stupid, that's why.

I almost forgot who I was talking to.

posted by dave at 3:39 AM in category ramblings

I'm not really sure what my mood is. I mean, I'm angry, but it kinda feels normal. Like this is how I'm supposed to feel.

Angry, and a little sad.

It feels like the real me.

Also, I seriously doubt that I'll sleep at all tonight.

Also, I should just stay home tomorrow night. No good would be served by my presence anywhere else. I think that's been proven enough times.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009
posted by dave at 1:22 PM in category ramblings

No, I really haven't abandoned this journal. No, I'm not dead. No, I'm not in prison.

I guess it's just the same old same old. The things I want to write, I can't. The things I don't want to write? Well, I don't.

This too, shall pass. Eventually one dam or another will break, and everything will start pouring onto my keyboard again.

But, for now, here's an entry from July 2007.

I've decided to try an experiment. I'm just going to type. Whatever comes into my head, I'm going to let it flow out through my fingers.

I don't expect this to be anything good. Or interesting. I suppose that I do expect it to be real, though. And that's gotta be worth something.

I'm a sucker for tears from a woman. Wait, that doesn't sound quite right. Because the word sucker implies that I'm being deceived. That I'm being naive. And I'm not. At least usually I'm not. Usually the tears are real.

They cut right through me. Make me want to drop everything else in my life and do something, anything to help make the tears stop. Even if I don't have a fucking clue what I should do or say, the need to do or say something is almost overwhelming.

That's pretty normal, I think. To want to help someone in need.

But then there's the other thing. The realization that something special is happening. The realization that I'm seeing a girl at her most open and honest, and that she feels comfortable enough to share that kind of intimacy with me. It makes me feel a little bit special, and a part of me actually wishes that it would continue for a while longer, so I could feel special for a while longer.

If I could somehow milk the tears. Control their pace and their ferocity to something manageable. Ride that wave for as long as I can, and carry the intimacy that we're sharing along for the ride.

I think that tears are a lot like orgasms. A woman is never more real to me than when she's crying, or when she's climaxing. At those times, she's her most primal self. Her most authentic self. No bullshit. No games. No doubts. Just her. The real her, and she's sharing it with me, of all people.

I want to help. I really do. To turn my back would be just incredibly selfish, and that's one thing I'm not. But what if I can't help? What if I shouldn't help? I mean, maybe I'm just supposed to listen. Maybe I'm just supposed to be there for her, offer a shoulder to lean on, lend an ear, say a kind word every now and then.

I want to help, I really do. But if I can't, if I shouldn't, then I'd still want to be there. I'd still want to share that intimacy. I'd still want to feel special for a while.

I don't think that makes me selfish. I think that makes me human.

Human. Imagine that.

posted by dave at 1:13 AM in category poetry

'Twas three nights after Christmas, and I sat at Rich O's.
People asked me, "Where's HatGirl?"
because nobody knows.
So I told them, "She's ill,"
and they said, "Take a pill!
and get better soon,
because we're sick of seeing Dave being so fucking sad all the time."

Wednesday, December 23, 2009
posted by dave at 12:00 AM in category daily

There are some things of which I'm sure. Those things require zero thought or consideration. I just know. What to say and when to say it and why to say it.

This isn't one of those things. This is different. This is hazy.

What should I say? What the fuck should I say?

Something simple and predictable, and therefore safe? And also stupid?

No, I don't think so.

Okay, how about something bold and ballsy and maybe even a little scary?

How about the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Is the truth ever inappropriate?

About four and a half years ago, my life changed. I didn't know it at the time, but I guess I at least suspected it. Something happened, on that day and on most of the days that have followed. I noticed, when it happened. I most certainly noticed, and I've continued to do so, for four and a half years.

I know the word. Fine, I'll say it.


How does a simple word like that manage to mean so much?

I knew, from the moment that I met you, that you were so very special. Because you did what nobody else, before or since, has managed to do. Without even trying, you distracted me. Made me become unfocused. Unclear. Unsure. Unsteady. Uneasy.

Nobody understands what it's taken to distract me. Yet you've done it so many times, without even trying. To the point when a distraction stops being a distraction, and it takes on a life of its own, and it becomes its own thing. Its own incredible awesome thing.

Happy birthday, to my dear dear friend HatGirl. You, more than anyone else, have made this bullshit I use for a life bearable. I want to breath because of her, but in actuality, I continue to breathe because of you. The strength that you demonstrate to me, and the faith and trust that you've placed in me...




I will do my best to follow your example of strength. I may fail, but I will do my best.

And I promise you this: I will never ever ever ever ever cause you to lose faith or trust in me.

In me, of all people!

So, again, happy birthday to you, my dear friend HatGirl.

I'm missing your birthday. I'm 1954 miles away from you on your 30th birthday. I may never forgive myself for this, but I'll try. Because I know you want me to.

Words never seem to be enough, but I've done the best I could do with what I have.

Saturday, December 19, 2009
posted by dave at 12:33 AM in category ramblings

...41 to go.

I know what's supposed to have happened by now. I get the emails. I get the texts. Questions, and reasonable questions all. I don't ignore them, even if I don't reply.

There are, despite the platitude, such things as stupid questions. Undeserving of an answer.

But I'm feeling cooperative tonight, so what the fuck?

What was supposed to have happened follows.


Wow, a little over a month by myself. With zero hope for a respite, for another forty-one days. With nothing to anticipate, for another forty-one days. That's what it took. When willpower wouldn't suffice, and when intelligence wouldn't further, and when experience wouldn't ease, a month alone has finally accomplished.

I'm not going to sit here, in my hotel room late on a Friday night, and write that I was stupid, or ignorant, or blind, or unrealistic. Perhaps I was all of those things, but I'm not going to admit to any of those shortcomings.

I'm going to admit to one thing. One and only one thing, which should excuse everything I've said and done and felt, and everything for which I've hoped and yearned and waited, for the last six years.

If only people would have believed me.

I was in love. Absolutely and beyond a shadow of a doubt, I was in love.

Now, the use of the past tense in that last sentence is interesting, to say the least. It hurt my brain to write that sentence. It hurt my heart even more.

But I'll survive. It seems that I always survive, even when I don't particularly want to do so.

Thirty-two days. That cured me. Who would have predicted that?

Besides Everyone On Earth, I mean.


Maybe that would be nice. Maybe you people could move on, go about your lives. Maybe I should lie.

But I won't.

I'm likening this to some books I've read which were written by prisoners. Incarcerated and isolated bodies and souls, forced to look inward for entertainment. Face to face with themselves. Finding themselves. Finally emerging better than when they went in.

That was supposed to happen to me. Everyone On Earth thought it would happen.

But I won't lie. I didn't expect it to happen, and it didn't happen. Not to me. Not to what's left of me, I mean.

I haven't found myself at all. For a simple reason. I'm not here in Northwestern Washington.

I'm almost two-thousand miles away. I'm in Southern Indiana. I'm with her.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009
posted by dave at 10:30 PM in category daily

...44 to go.

Today was a pretty good day, considering the circumstances.

I got this strong urge to shoot some pool. I don't know why, I just did.

I didn't even want to shoot against anyone. I just wanted to knock some balls into some holes. Sometimes, like tonight, that's all I want to do. Simple, but effective.

So I went to this Royal something-or-other place. It sucked. It was a nightclub with some pool tables. I wanted the exact opposite, except without the nightclub stuff.

I can't even remember the name of the place I went. The something.

That narrows it down.

All I wanted to do was knock some balls into some holes. But I was not about to back down from a challenge. Not this time.

It took about 10 seconds for one of the local "sharks" to detect me. It took about 60 seconds for us to negotiate a game, with a "friendly" wager and a "fair" spot.

It took about 5 minutes for me to realize that, in that particular little pond, I was the big fish.

The pussy quit me after a couple of hours and several hundred dollars. I don't really blame him except that he'd originally acted like he had money to burn.

The thing is, nobody up here knows how to play banks. Oh, certainly, people know how to bank, many of them much better than me, but to play the game of banks requires a special mindset. One that I possess, and others up here don't.

Like taking candy from a baby.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009
posted by dave at 10:49 PM in category ramblings

...45 to go.

Today was a bad day. Not that they're not all bad, but today was especially so.

Abandoned by one, or maybe two. Ignored by both, certainly. Real or imagined transgressions have made me the way I am tonight. Alone. Physically and mentally and chronologically and emotionally.

I'll get over it, most likely. I always do. I always forgive.

But what if I don't want to forgive?


What if I want to stay angry? Can I force that particular emotion upon myself when other, less selfish emotions, constantly claw and climb their way towards the surface of my mind? Can anger be strong enough to defend its position? It's never been strong enough before; that's for sure.

This bullshit I use instead of a life would be a lot more bearable if I could stay angry. At the lies. At the teasings. At the broken promises, both implicit and explicit.

I keep waiting, expecting even, for something to push me over the edge. To make forgiveness impossible, even for me, of all people. It's going to happen. Eventually.

I can't fucking wait.

I've always wondered what I would write if I were to give up.

Soon, perhaps, I'll find out. Soon, perhaps, we'll all find out.

posted by dave at 7:59 PM in category pictures, quickies
They're having a Christmas party here. I think they're all from the hot girl factory.
The worst thing about stage three is that it makes me send drivelly emails to HatGirl.
If there's snow falling it's snowing. If there's rain falling it's raining. If there's sleet falling it's sleeting. But what if there's freezing rain falling? Is it freezing raining? That doesn't seem right. This is a relevant question because, whatever you call it, it's doing it outside right now.
It's supposed to finally warm up tomorrow. I hope so. I'm quite tied of shivering all the time.
I have no idea what I want for dinner. I think I'm getting burned out on eating. Maybe I should look into absorbing energy from sunlight, the way plants do.
I've been talking to an honest to goodness Bering Sea fisherman.
For BigWheelGirl
It's snowing again. Big giant flakes. It's pretty.
I'm starting to get worried. That's just how my minds works. Worry sucks. I'd rather be my usual mad/sad.
I didn't even notice, but there's an uberhot girl at the table behind me.
How to drive in the snow in Washington
Drive at one mile per hour, taking up two lanes. If your car ever creeps up to two miles per hour, slam on your brakes. Bonus points are awarded for a 360-degree spin.
It's snowing like crazy out here! Brrrr!
Hair Club for Men
He's not only the president, he's also a member.
I've been calling this the Yummi Nation. But now I think it's the Lummi Nation.
Sitting at a bar, drinking a beer, and smoking a cigarette. Too bad I had to flee the country to do it.
1954 miles
It sure seems like more.
I knew this was going to happen. Once again, I was right. Once again, I wish I'd been wrong.
Oh well
I just tried to watch a movie on my blackberry via Netflix. It didn't work. It would have been cool, though.
Strike two!
At least I'm pretty sure it's strike two. It might be more like strike one-million.
I bought a damn scraper for my windshield. I wonder if Alamo will reimburse me.
These fucking pull-tab players keep monopolizing the bartenders. I may have to go on a killing spree.
I can't make up my damn mind about driving down to Seattle tonight.
Weather report
It's snowing here. Little baby flakes...
Because there was an evening, in September I think, of 2003. Because I looked, and because I saw. That's why I never had a choice. That's why it's my fault.
I miss my kitties. As of two days ago, this is the longest I've ever been away from them.
Sitting at this Slo Pitch bar next to the hotel, trying to cram in a couple of beers before too many weirdoes show up.
I bet I have nightmares about 80s hair.
I'm watching Heathers. All the hair is cracking me up.
All the barstools in this place are slanty. It's disconcerting.
Had Mongolian Grill. I'm experimenting with their sauce choices. This time I had garlic and chili sauces. Not great. I should have had teriyaki.
It's 4:00 and the stupid sun is already setting.
Her face is deformed. Everyone must see it, but nobody ever says anything.
Something isn't right. The world suddenly seems out of kilter.
Tonight I'm in disguise again. It just feels safer.
I like them. They're pretty. Mountains are one of the reasons I moved here in 1992.
This morning a beautiful girl woke me up at 5:00. But alas, it was only with a phone call.
That's the bartender's name. What's weird is that she's white.
Wonders never cease
The mall was actually open. I bought a coat, because the wind chill outside is -2365841265 degrees.
They're out of African Amber. I drank it all.
Nice start to the week
The front desk called me because somebody had lodged a noise complaint about my TV. My TV wasn't even on. I told her it was my new loud neighbors. Now they're out in the hall arguing.
Now I'm sitting next to a dude who's talking to himself about how he has two hours left to live.
These kids today...
Talking to a girl who says she's majoring in ketchup bottles.
Stores in this stupid mall close at 6:00 on Sundays. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of.
The narrow path became a thin line became a scant thread...
If I could stay here, in stage two, then maybe I could survive.
Boundary Bay Inside passage IPA
(draft) Hazy gold. No detectable head. Interestingly floral aroma. Nice flavor. Whatever hops are in this, they're the kind that I like. Good.
Boundary Bay Single Hop - Amarillo
(draft) Hazy Gold. Aroma and flavor of pine needles. Not the kind of hop that I like. Calling it decent goes against my instincts.
Boundary Imperial Oatmeal Stout
(draft) Black with a thin tan head that faded quickly. Fairly neutral aroma. Thick mouthfeel, with a nice strong roasted malt flavor that coated my mouth. Good.
Boundary Bay Dry Irish Stout
(draft) Black with a lasting creamy head. Aroma of burnt malts. Flavor of burnt malts and a touch of coffee. Pretty good.
Boundary Bay Cabin Fever
(draft) Very dark amber/brown with a lasting white head. Nice aroma and flavor of malts and spices. Maybe some vanilla. Good.
Boundary Bay Scotch Ale
(draft) Hazy brown. White head that pulled a quick disappearing act. Mild aroma of roasted malts. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor surprisingly strong of roasted malts. A bit of a bitter hoppy finish. I disagree with this beer's classification, but not with its taste. Damn good.
Boundary Bay Amber
(draft) Cloudy brown, small head. Malty aroma. Flavor of a mild brown ale, but with a lingering hoppy finish that I could have done without. Just decent.
Boundary Bay Best Bitter ESB
(draft) Hazy amber with a decent head. Citrusy and hoppy aroma. Flavor of watery grapefruit juice. Decent, I suppose.
Mt. Baker
Trying to convince myself that it wasn't all a lie.
Chillaxin' with a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter. I'm being spoiled by this beer.
It's a beautiful day outside. I can see it out my window as I work.
I have new neighbors in the next room. I may have to kill them.
I ordered a pizza from this Boston's place. I hope it doesn't suck.
Tried to go to Boundary Bay, but everyone in Washington was already there.
That's how many movies are now in my Netflix queue. I have such an exciting life.
I don't know what's more ridiculous, that she thinks she can get away with the way she treats me, or that I actually let her get away with it.
I'm conducting one.
It's no use. I'm wasting my time.
I probably don't want to know.
My favorite kind of hot girl is the kind that doesn't think she's hot.
I have this really weird thing that I do. Even I think it's crazy. But I'm doing it now, and it somehow makes me feel better.
I'm sad tonight. Drowning my sorrows with Mac & Jack's African Amber.
Back at the hotel. Expecting another very long night of work.
Still up. Still working. Thinking about all the yummy overtime pay I'll get.
On The Biggest Loser tonight, they had them run a marathon, and they put the last part over sand. Because I guess running 26.2 miles on asphalt was too easy.
At some big mall. I need new work shoes.
It's gonna be a good night for glaring at my phone. Maybe with a nice bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter. Or two.
Weather report
It's a beautiful sunny day here. Chilly, though.
Monday, December 14, 2009
posted by dave at 3:19 PM in category general

I think I'm finally starting to adjust to this time zone. The adjustment isn't complete, but I can tell it's happening.

I pretty much go to bed at a "normal" time. For me, that's somewhere between midnight and 1:00 AM. And to me, it feels like it's between midnight and 1:00 AM. This isn't what it felt like when I first got here. Back then it always felt like I wasn't going to bed until after 3:00 AM. That part of my brain was still stuck in the Eastern time zone.

I don't have any problem getting up at 7:00 either. I'm sure that's partly because the time to get up part of my brain is still in the good old EST - it thinks I get to sleep until 10:00 every day - but the fact that I go to bed at a normal time certainly helps. This helps me on weekdays, but it's a pain in the ass on weekends when I want to sleep in but my circadian rhythm wakes me up before 8:00 AM.

Another place where the adjustment is far from complete is between the hours of, say, 2:00 PM and 5:00 PM. The last three hours of work. My EST-accustomed brain is convinced that my work day is over, and it's a real chore to stay awake and alert.

And it doesn't help that it gets dark so soon at this latitude. When I left Indiana, sunset was probably around 7:00 PM. In Bellingham, it's dark by 4:30.

Anyway, I guess that's it.

Sunday, December 13, 2009
posted by dave at 10:29 PM in category daily

...48 to go.

I want to write about eggs for a minute. Groan all you want, I don't care. I hardly ever write about eggs, so I'm way overdue. If you don't like it, feel free to go here instead. Have a nice time there.

There's a bar/restaurant/casino right next to my hotel. They have food, and they have a couple of good beers. It's handy-dandy. Unless you try, as I've done for the last two days, to order fried eggs.

These people don't know how to make a fried egg. They have some kind of mental defect that prevents them from understanding this simple concept:

Break open an egg. Dump it onto a hot surface. Break the yolk. Once it's cooked for a while, turn it over and cook it some more.

Simple, right?

This is called a fried egg in every place on Earth, except at this bar/restaurant/casino next to my hotel. In this place, they cannot figure it out. The closet they can do is over-easy.

I don't want over-easy. I don't want over-medium. I don't want over-hard. I don't want sunny-side-up. And I don't want scrambled or poached or hard-boiled. I just want a fucking fried egg, or two, or three. I want the goddamn yolk broken, and I want everything to be cooked solid.

Is that so hard to understand?

Apparently, it is.

On Saturday, I asked for three fried eggs, and I got three eggs over-easy. A federal case ensued.

On Sunday, I told the waitress that I didn't want another federal case. She assured me that it wouldn't happen again. So I ordered three fried eggs. I explained what I meant.

A short while later, the cook emerged from the kitchen. He explained that the waitress was confused, and he asked if I would explain to him what I wanted.

So I explained to him. He said he understood.

A few minutes later, I was presented with three fucking over-easy eggs.

So, I give up. I ended up eating three pieces of toast - they came with my eggs - that cost me $8.00.

posted by dave at 1:18 AM in category ramblings

I watch it happen, because that's all I can do. I cannot stop it, and I cannot slow it, and I cannot...

Uncoiling, unraveling, falling, piling in a haphazard tangle at my feet. The contents of me, the essence of me, they spill like...

I watch, because that's all I can do. And because it's what I must do.

Something has gone terribly wrong.

I die, but I live.

Why? To witness? To pay homage? To...

Saturday, December 12, 2009
posted by dave at 11:12 PM in category ramblings

49 to go...


That's the word I kept telling myself tonight. Over and over and over until I started to actually believe it.

Almost bearable.

See, I know who I am, and what I do. When I'm being myself, I sit at a bar, and I drink, and I think, and I smoke.

Last night, and tonight, I got to do all four things at the same time.

Washington, like most places these days, has an anti-smoking law in place. But Washington, perhaps unlike most places, also has Indian casinos in place. That's what they call them. Indian casinos. Not native-American casinos. Politically incorrect, maybe, but it's certainly their choice. They can call the things whatever they want.

Anyway, as near as I can figure it, these places and the reservations which contain them are not considered to be part of the United States. That's why the anti-smoking laws don't apply to them.

So tonight and last night I got to be more like myself than at any other time since I came to Bellingham.

It was almost bearable.

I'm 1954 - I looked it up - miles from home and from my life. I miss my friends and my family and my cats. I miss some people - they know who they are - more than I'd thought possible. More than is appropriate and more than I'm allowed. But even more than that, I've missed myself. Tonight and last night I found myself for a while.

All is certainly not perfect. I still search for that elusive writey mood. I dig around in my brain and my heart, my fingers grabbing and grasping at anything and everything. But when I pull my prizes into the light to examine them, they're never quite what I'm looking for.

I have so much to say. Too much to say, perhaps.

It sometimes seems that I'm needed the most when I'm unavailable. I was afraid this would happen. I even knew this would happen eventually, if I was gone long enough. Well, I've been gone long enough. And I'm needed. But I cannot help.

I'm too far away.

Friday, December 11, 2009
posted by dave at 10:17 PM in category ramblings

...50 to go.

I keep waiting, expecting, hoping to get into a proper mood. A writey mood, I call it. I doubt that's really a word, but I don't care. I'm going to use it anyway. It fits, and shit.

Besides, every word in existence was coined at some point.

But anyway, the writey mood eludes me. It's a slippery bastard.


It's all such bullshit. I've been told a thousand lies. A million lies. I want the truth. But nobody knows the truth. Not even the liars.

The truth, it's also a slippery bastard.

I get so sick of people tiptoeing around me. Treating me with kid gloves. Beating around the goddamn bush. Fucking protecting my feelings.

It's all such bullshit.

My feelings are nothing but scar-tissue. They're fucking indestructible.


Even now, even after everything, I don't matter even to myself. I will not, can not, put myself first. Second, maybe, but not first. Not before her. Or them. Whatever.


It was a horrible idea. I wanted it so much, but I wanted it for the wrong reason. So now, now I get to be alone over the holidays. I get to feel sorry for myself.

All will be as it should be.


This is my fault. I'm the one who messed up. I'm the one who can't or won't face reality.

Sunday, December 6, 2009
posted by dave at 10:31 PM in category ramblings

Maybe they're really nothing. Nothing at all. Not leftovers of a reality almost gone. Not even echoes of a reality gone for months. And not even inklings of a future promised yet denied.

Maybe they're nothing.

Nothing at all.

Perhaps it's all in my head. Perhaps that's where it's always been. Perhaps that would make the most sense. Perhaps that would explain everything, to everyone but me.


He screams and he moans and he groans. Sometimes, he cries. His agony is as unimaginable as it is inevitable.

He will not die. He will not starve and he will not drown and he will not suffocate and he will not take his own life. He suffers and he endures.

Somehow, he survives.

I pity him, and I admire him. I worship him.


People like to spout platitudes to me. It makes them feel wiser and therefore superior to me. One such platitude is, "God will never give you more than you can handle."

My response to that is, "Tell that to my friend WomanRepellant."


They're not leftovers and they're not echoes and they're not inklings. What the fuck are they?

Seriously, I want to know. I need to know.

I fucking deserve to know.

posted by dave at 10:28 AM in category movies

The light streaming through my window this morning made a mezmerizing effect.

There is no audio. I figured you people didn't need to hear the heater blowing at 100 decibels.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009
posted by dave at 11:31 AM in category ramblings

This is my 14th day here. I guess the newness is really starting to wear off now. I’m feeling more and more homesick with each passing day. Some people told me that it would get easier. That I would get used to it. Some people were wrong. This sucks.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have managed to enjoy myself, just not as often as I’d have liked. Going down to Kent this past weekend was a lot of fun. It was really great to see some of my old friends and visit some of my old haunts. I’ve really missed living there, even more than I thought.

I’ve noticed that I don’t like to write anymore. It always seems like such a chore. And when I do manage to bang out some sentences, nothing flows. Nothing has rhythm. This is especially true when I try to write about the mundane events of my days and nights. So I don’t write about those things. I hardly write about anything.

It’s all I can do to keep from packing up my stuff and flying home. Is this job worth it? I haven’t seen her for over two weeks. And it’s going to be another two months. How am I supposed to function with that knowledge constantly beating away inside my head? Breathing is a chore, and yet I’m expected to work, eat, sleep?

I just don’t know.

Who am I going to be when I finally return home? Will anyone even recognize me? Will I recognize myself?

mysterious gray box mysterious blue box mysterious red box mysterious green box mysterious gold box

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