Okay, so Friday sucked, Saturday sucked, and Sunday isn't looking too good, either.

Is that enough? Does that count as an entry?

No?

Okay, fine.

I already mentioned that I went to the river Friday. Specifically, I went to this depressing little park that they've built on the river-side of the floodwall.

But before I got to the park, I stopped at this creepy little building and took some pictures. See, RockGirl has been sending me pictures of all these neat scary old buildings where she lives. So I figured I'd reciprocate a little.

That's a little building next to the river, on the same road that the park is on. I must have passed it a zillion times in my youth, but I'd never taken a good look at it before.

I like the way they did masonry back in the olden days. Even for a crappy little building like this, they added some class and took pride in their work.

One very weird thing was that I saw an old potty chair through the partly-open door.

Whereas the old abandoned buildings in RockGirl's area are huge zombie fortresses, she said this building looked more like a zombie clubhouse. But I guess it's actually just an old pumping station. A zombie clubhouse would be cool, though.

I think I'll put the stuff about the actual park in another entry.

You know, it's days like this that I really miss my dad.

Not that he would understand me any more than anyone else has.

But he'd fucking believe me. And I bet he wouldn't even roll his eyes.

I miss my dad.

So Superman fell from a horse, and he broke his neck and became paralyzed. Because of those things, he was labeled a hero.

I, on the other hand, fell from the clouds, and I broke my soul. Because of those things, I was labeled a pitiable loser.

---

I have this stupid sense of entitlement sometimes. I really hate it.

Because I know it's bullshit.

Just ask my dad if it's bullshit. Oh wait, you can't, because he worked hard his whole fucking life and then just dropped dead one Thursday evening.

Or ask my nephew if it's bullshit. Oh wait, you can't, because he kept his nose clean all throughout his adolescence and was as ready for adulthood as anyone, but then he was killed in a car accident late on a Friday night.

You're supposed to work hard, for a long time, and then you're supposed to be rewarded for your efforts?

You're supposed to suffer unimaginable anguish, and then things are supposed to work out so your suffering was worth it?

Bullshit. That guy Job, from the bible, can suck my dick.

What really happens, most of the time, is that all of your hard work and all of your suffering - they mean not a fucking thing.

The universe doesn't care how hard you've worked. And the universe sure as fuck doesn't care what you're been through. Fuck, it was the universe that put you through all the crap in the first place.

I hate feeling like this. Like my own years of suffering are worth a flying fuck to anyone or anything. It's bullshit, and I know it, but I can't shake it.

I want some fucking justification, dammit. I've fucking earned it. I'm fucking waiting.

When do I get to look at my life, realize how wonderful it is, and say that it was worth all the anguish?

Huh? Answer me that, universe. You fucking cocksucker.

The thing is, I don't think I have anything to say. Or maybe there's plenty to say, but nothing I'm willing to say here.

Yeah, I bet that's it.

My mind is swarming with unpleasant thoughts today. That, and thoughts of tiredness, since I haven't slept since an aborted attempt at a nap Thursday afternoon.

But I'm trying to cope. Trying to find some sense of self. I went to Polly's for lunch. Didn't help. I went down to the river and that certainly didn't help. I might do an entry about that someday. I took pictures.

I'm back home now. Lost inside my own head, clawing at these walls, trying to find a door so I can step outside and have a smoke or something. To get away from this barrage of thoughts, for just a few short minutes, would be so nice. Maybe then I could sleep.

I've recently been told that, as a blogger, I'm actually expected to write stuff.

So okay fine. I'll write something. Plus, I'm waiting for some clothes to dry.

I wasn't going to write about this at all, but my hand has now been forced, and I'll look like a wimp if I don't write about it. So, like I said, I'll write something.

The other night I was out on my swing. I love my swing on the warm Summer nights. I can sit out there with a nice beer and I can play fetch with the neighbor's dog and I can contemplate the universe.

I can also have nice little email conversations and occasional phone conversations, though the latter are fairly rare these days.

So the other night I was having a nice little email conversation with LaptopGirl. I think I must have bored her because she disappeared on me. Then, the next day, she said she'd fallen asleep. I've heard of this sleep thing. I even seem to have some vague memories of doing it myself, but I can't be sure. Those may be false memories implanted by aliens, or the media, or maybe the alien media.

Anyway, after I'd bored LaptopGirl into Snoozytown (pop: everyone but me) my phone rang. A number that I don't have in my phone's memory. Instead, a number that's burned into my brain.

MixedSignalGirl.

Yay?

We had the world's shortest phone conversation. And that was probably a good thing because I was having a hard time holding onto the phone anyway. Because our last conversation hadn't gone very well. This one was better, and shorter.

Me: Hello?

MSG: Are you at home?

Me: I'm out on my swing.

MSG: Save me a seat.

Me: Don't come here.

MSG: I'm on my way. (click)

So I figured that I had some choices.

First, I could spontaneously burst into flames. I tried that for a few seconds, but I must have been doing it wrong because all that happened was that I peed my pants a little.

Second, I could run into my house and turn off all the lights and hide. I didn't really consider this, once I remembered that MixedSignalGirl probably still has a key to my house and she knows the alarm code.

Third, I could be a man and just sit and wait for her. That's what I decided to do. I mean, what was the worst thing that could happen?

The next day I emailed RockGirl about the visit. Here's an edited version of that email.

Well, she came over. Just like she still did it all the time. Just like she still had every right to come over whenever she felt like it.

I didn't know what to expect. I thought maybe she was going to throw herself at me and say she was moving back here. I thought that maybe she was going to show up with her boyfriend and force me to meet him. (deleted)

It wasn't nearly as dramatic as any of that. It was a lot like the olden days. She pulled in the driveway and parked in front of the detached garage. She waved at me on my swing. She got out of her car and plopped down next to me and said , "Hi!"

Just like it hadn't been a million years, since she'd sat on that swing with me.

We had a couple beers. She stayed until a little before 3:00. Nothing happened. We just sat and talked about the olden days and what had gone wrong and what had been happening with her and with me. (deleted) She told me about how wonderful her boyfriend is, and I managed to be happy for her about that. Even though I don't believe it, not really. We talked about my nephew Cory and how Dina is still struggling to deal with that loss.

All she really wanted to do was see me and make sure I didn't hate her for moving away and for finding someone new. And her boyfriend is arriving in town today, so last night was the only opportunity she had to see me. I told her that of course I didn't hate her. But I also didn't tell her that I love her. (deleted)

I gave her a hug when she left. I think she was feeling better. I'm not sure that I was, but at least I wasn't feeling any worse.

And now I've written something.

I'm going to Atlanta for a couple of days next week.

Why would I go to Atlanta? Why would I go to Atlanta in July? Isn't that city often called Hotlanta?

These are all legitimate questions, to be sure.

I'm going there for work. At least for some meetings I have on Friday. But I'm flying down Thursday and leaving Saturday, so I'll have Thursday and Friday nights to try to enjoy myself.

The Braves will be out of town, so maybe I'll go to some bars. You know, just for a change of pace.

I suppose that, when you're dying in the desert, a mirage is better than nothing.

Even when you recognize it for what it is, even when you realize that it's not real at all, it's still a goal of sorts.

Worth scrambling toward, because it's something to do, at least.

Better than dying and desiccating in place, without even trying to survive.

I'm so thirsty.

Heh.

The subject of this entry is funny to me. I don't know why.

---

Monday was, by any definition you want to use, a wasted day.

I mean, I couldn't even make myself sad when I wanted. And that used to be my faithful standby mood. Today, I didn't even have that to fall back upon. I remained numb all day long.

---

I figure that 99% of my brain has, rather suddenly over the past few days, been left with nothing to do. That's a pretty big chunk. I find myself worrying and/or wondering what's going to happen, now that I've got all this extra processing power.

Something bad, that's my guess.

---

A cornered animal will always fight back. Though it may be terrified, and though it may be doomed, a cornered animal will always go out with a fight.

Snapping teeth and slashing claws. Squeaks turned into roars by desperation.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm being cornered. With nothing left to lose.

I don't like this feeling, and I wish it would go away. It's not appropriate. I have plenty left to lose.

---

Did I ever mention that I'd like to win the lottery and retire?

Well, I would like to do those things.

Trust is one of those oddball things. It has to be earned, but simply earning it doesn't always garner it. Nope, it also has to be given. And there are no rules about trusting someone. It's all so subjective.

---

This thing that I just tried, and failed, to write about? Now I'm having fourth thoughts about it, and I'm thinking that maybe I should try again. Because it really is quite cool.

---

I think it's my fault that it keeps storming here. Every single time I hang my sleeping bag on my deck railing to dry, another storm comes along and blows it off the railing.

---

Tonight at Red Lobster there was the cutest little pair of twin two-month-old babies. Everyone wanted to just gobble them up. But nobody did, probably because they were saving room for the regular menu items.

Also, the twins' parents didn't look like they were having any fun at all. I guess that's what two months without any sleep will do to you.

---

I've been on-call all week, but tomorrow at 7:00 my week of torture ends. So, yay!

---

I've always been the first to admit that I don't know what the fuck is going on. And now I'll admit it again.

I don't know what the fuck is going on.

---

I'm sitting here checking my email every couple of minutes, but all I'm getting is dick SPAM. I get a lot of that.

---

I guess I'll go out to my swing for a while now.

I have serious doubts that this entry is going ever going to see the light of day. I think that to be publishable it'll have to be too cryptic, even for me. I think it'll be so cryptic that even I won't be able to understand it once some time passes.

But, I'm bored right now. And I'm not particularly tired. Most of all, this is something that I really feel deserves at least a shot at being a blog entry. Because it is important.

So I'll try to write this damn thing. Though I'm already having second and third thoughts about it, and I haven't even said anything yet.

(Bunch of incomprehensible drivel deleted.)

Well, that was sort of a an incredible waste of time, wasn't it?

I guess there are some things that I can't say without coming right out and saying them.

It's not what people think, though. That's safe to say. In fact, it's pretty much the opposite of what people think.