I had the weirdest dream. I can't figure most of it out.

I was living in Seattle, but with my parents. I had to go on a trip to Las Vegas, and I was trying to talk my dad into taking me to the airport, but he was being a real dick about it. And I was going to Las Vegas to marry HatGirl. The dream was very clear about it being HatGirl because I was worried that StupidGirl would get mad about it.

Apparently at some point in the past I had decided to rip, using my teeth, my shirts into little strips before I packed them into a suitcase. This was to prevent wrinkles, I think. I realized this was a bad idea when I started ripping one of my favorite shirts. Der.

At one point there was a chick who looked exactly like LaptopGirl but wasn't LaptopGirl. I was thinking that she'd be a perfect replacement for LaptopGirl, but then I thought about it and realized that I didn't want to go through all that shit again.

Very strange dream, but fun and interesting to me.

I was thinking about something earlier today, and then I thought that a good opening line for an entry would be, "I was thinking about something earlier today."

And I got so excited about my fancy new opening line that I totally forgot what I'd been thinking about.

I'm easily impressed. I think we all know that by now. And easily distra oh look a kitty!

Anyway.

I say that a lot. Anyway, I mean. I guess it's a little classier than saying um all the time.

But not by much.

And so that inkling became an idea, which quickly became a desire which even more quickly became an impulse acted upon.

No time for doubt before, only for embarrassment after. In the morning. Unnecessary, unneeded, unwarranted, unwanted embarrassment.

For what?

Beautiful, that's what it was. No other word will do it justice.

Do not be embarrassed. It was necessary. It was needed. It was beautiful.

Just like you.

I get flashes of snippets, all the time. Ideas for short scenes, poignant scenes, great scenes. Problem is, they all stand alone. Context would stitch them together, but I have no context other than my own life, and I don't want to use that. Fiction is suppose to be fiction, after all.

And, more often than not, my little scenes end up more like speeches, or soliloquies, than actual scenes. The one guy talks and rambles and blathers and the other guy just says, "Uh huh" every now and then. Or maybe he nods or shakes his head, depending on the circumstance.

I dunno. I'm probably over-thinking things. I do that a lot.

THREE WAYS I AM STILL A KID
1. I have a pretty juvenile sense of humor sometimes.
2. I have a strong sense of wonder.
3. I get really excited about stupid things sometimes.

THREE WAYS I AM ALREADY OLD
1. I'm actually old.
2. I think more about the past than the future.
3. When I see a hot young waitress, I often wonder what her mom looks like.

THREE THINGS I WANT TO DO
1. Duh.
2. Write something profound and moving.
3. Be appreciated.

THREE WAYS THAT I’M A STEREOTYPICAL GUY
1. I can be very competitive.
2. I'm a vertical thinker.
3. I like muscle cars.

THREE WAYS THAT I’M A STEREOTYPICAL GIRL
1. Kitties!
2. I'm very emotional.
3. I have a lot of empathy.

THREE NEW THINGS I WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS
1. Add another state to my list.
2. Get my pool game back to where it was.
3. Get back to a normal sleeping schedule.

THREE THINGS I LIKE ABOUT MYSELF
1. I have a good sense of humor.
2. I'm honest and trustworthy.
3. I'm true to myself.

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE ME
1. Spiders.
2. Messing up something really important to me.
3. Things staying the same as they are now.

THREE OF MY EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS
1. My computer.
2. My phone.
3. My rock.

THREE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE OPPOSITE SEX (OR SAME) THAT APPEAL TO ME
1. Sweetness.
2. Intelligence.
3. Humor.

THREE THINGS I JUST CAN’T DO
1. Dance.
2. Play guitar.
3. Lie.

THREE CAREERS I’M CONSIDERING
1. Writer.
2. International playboy.
3. Pool player.

Hmmm, that doesn't seem very nice. Maybe I'll try to soften it up a little. After I pack and shit stuff.

I slept about four and a half hours. Now I'm up. Once I finish waking up the rest of the way, I get to pack and shit stuff. I hope to leave my house at 4:00. Then I fly to Houston for a one-hour layover, then to Las Vegas.

I want to take a nap when I get to Las Vegas. I'm excited about the prospect of taking a nap. RockGirl says that means I'm weird. I think it just means that I'm tired.

I'm going to ramble for a bit. Get over it. Or not. I don't care. It's my blog.

She's always been nice. Always. Not just when she's been drunk, or when she's wanted something, or when she's felt guilty. Despite the bullshit of two months ago, I can truthfully say that she's always been nice.

And, she's always been sweet. Always. Not just when she's been drunk, or when she's wanted something, or when she's felt guilty.

Tomorrow, I'm going to see her. After almost six months, I'm going to hold her.

But who am I going to miss? Who am I going to continue to miss?

Same person I miss right now.

Someone who's nice, at least when she's drunk, or when she wants something, or when she feels guilty. Someone who's just incredibly unbelievably sweet, at least when she's drunk, or when she wants something, or when she feels guilty.

(That last paragraph reads a lot meaner than it was intended. There were other times. Lot's of other times.)

I'm going to miss her, as I've always missed her, for a lot of reasons. Inertia, partly, but also because I was telling the truth that night. The night after the hurricane, when I took her hand, and I took a breath, and I finally told her that she was the love of my life.

Last time I checked, I was still alive. My life was ongoing.

Barely.

So my statement still counts. To me at least, it counts. For something.

For everything.

Remember how, that one day, I came home and my house was almost 90 degrees, and the only way I could turn off the heat was to flip the circuit breaker?

And remember how, the night before, I'd flipped my heat-pump to electric supplemental heating?

I went to the site to pay my bill just now.

$1193.

For a bill that's usually around $250.

And then, sometimes, I'm thinking fuck it. If those eyes want to keep prying, then how is that my fault?

Oh, that's right, because I'm an asshole who, at any second, is bound to write something mean. Or something like that. If there's a different reason, I'd sure like to know it.

Anyway.

It's supposed to be fairly warm the next couple of days. I'm moderately excited about the possibility of going out to my garage with a beer or three so that I can do some navel-gazing. I haven't been out there since the weather got cold in the Fall. I miss it. I miss my swing even more, but that's a different story.

My mood has been mostly weird lately. My thoughts, unfettered. The things I used to think about all the time, they no longer hold my interest like they used to. So, if I go out to my garage and do some serious thinking, there's no telling where my thoughts will go. It's a little scary, sure, but it's also quite interesting to me. There was a time, not too long ago, when my thoughts always went to the same place.

Now, not so much.

I kinda feel like I should be writing something now. I'm at work, though, so it will be something short. And, probably, something stupid. But that's okay with me.

Clearly, I'm sick of doing this. Writing censored versions of my thoughts, lest certain eyes become upset. I don't want to upset those eyes. I've done enough of that over the years. But my thoughts, they aren't watered down and pussified. They're just as intense as they've always been, even moreso regarding some things and some people and some circumstances.

Hence, my dilemma.

If I can't write what I want and need to write, then why bother to write at all?