Things were weird.

I caught myself, several times, saying things. Things that were the absolute objective truth, but at the same time things that I absolutely did not believe. Because I found that I could no longer be objective. Basically, I lied my ass off, because I was less afraid of lying than I was of saying what I really thought.

I doubt that any of that makes any sense. It barely makes sense to me, and I'm the one who wrote it. Whatever.

I've written several times, in the past, that the right thing isn't always, or even often, the easy thing. Tonight, I think that statement caught up with me a little bit. I found myself doing the easy thing, saying the easy words, suggesting the easy path.

I know why I did what I did, said what I said, suggested what I suggested. And I also know that I was wrong when I did those things. And I knew all along, even while it was happening, that I was wrong. I knew, all along, that I was taking the easy way out because it was, at that time, expected of me.

It was a weird feeling, kind of a shift in perspective that really took me by surprise. It surprised me so much that I let the inertia of expectations control me for the entire conversation. While I tried to come to grips with what I wanted to say, I continued to say those things that I was expected to say. I stuck with the script.

It was easier that way. But it wasn't right. Not right at all. The truth can be the truth a million times in a row, but if it's ever revealed to be false, I should acknowledge it as such.

I screwed up. I'm human, apparently. Sorry about that.

I didn't get around to watching last night's show until after 10:00 tonight. I don't know who was voted out. I guess I'll go look in a bit.

Carly: I really like Carly. I think she's easily one of the best singers. But maybe her voice is a little plain. It seemed that way tonight, at least. (80 points)

Syesha: She seems pretty full of herself. Maybe, if I were that awesome, I would be too. A fantastic performance. (85 points)

Brooke: I like Brooke, but she really blew most of the low notes tonight. She should have picked another song. The judges apparently heard a different performance than the one I heard. (60 points)

Ramiele: Just incredibly cute. Like a baby bunny riding around on the back of another baby bunny. Also, she is my favorite girl in the competition. (90 points)

Kristy Lee: Stupid song. Okay performance. Boring. (65 points)

Amanda: Painful. Everything from the hair to the pants to the "dancing" - and especially the singing - it was all just painful. I want those two minutes of my life back, please. (20 points)

Alaina: Great song. She mangled a couple of notes. Good job, though. (80 points)

Alexandrea: Seems like she picked a very hard song, and I think she did very well with it. (85 points)

Kady: One of my favorites, even after tonight's lackluster performance. I gave her 15 bonus points for being smoldering hot. (95 points)

Asia'h: Stupid name. Pretty good performance, but I've heard much better renditions of that song. her arrangement was a little weird. (80 points)

I was trying to remember if I ever made the actual promise to stay here. I'm not sure that I ever did. I know that I thought about it, and I might have even implied it, but I don't think that I ever really came right out and said it. Promised it.

This is all just speculation, of course. Things are almost never as bad as they seem to be. Perhaps, this too, shall pass. Perhaps I'll have a good laugh about it, someday. About how I worried about what I would do, if I were pressed into action.

The thought of starting over is quite intriguing to me. I'd be lying if I said otherwise. I mean, there's only one thing that would give me pause. And sometimes even that doesn't seem like much of a thing. A sense of potential isn't really a thing at all, I don't think, when I think about it objectively. I mean, it's nice to have something to wish for, but when wishing becomes the end all and be all of an entire life - it loses a bit of its luster.

Sometimes it seems like I'm stuck in the worst possible place. A hundred miles to the East, and things would be better. A hundred miles to the North, and I'd at least have a fighting chance. More than that - five hundred miles, a thousand miles, two thousand miles - things just keep looking better and better the further from here that I look.

All choices were taken from me a long time ago. This might just be a new choice. A new opportunity. It would be weird, and more than a little exciting, to have a choice again. But I really don't know if I could make that choice, or if there would really be any choice at all.

Would it really be possible to start over while leaving so many things unfinished?

I wonder which would be worse, a lifetime of regret, or a lifetime of unanswered prayers.

Sometimes I think about wasting the words. Sometimes I think of the words as a boil that must be lanced. Just to get everything out in the open. After all, I can never be completely forthcoming and honest while these words stay locked inside me. Festering.

So, I sometimes think about just saying the words. Casually, like I'd say that it was cold outside or like I'd say that it was Wednesday. Just another Wednesday, no different than any other. Oh, and by the way, here is the truth. Do with it what you will, but you can no longer pretend that it doesn't exist, because here it is. In your face.

I expect that the truth would be met with disbelief. That would certainly be the easiest way to deal with it. After all, only the truth matters - if words are deemed to be false, then they can be swept aside and pushed aside and brushed aside and ignored like the millions of other lies that are told every single day.

But a part of me wonders. A part of me wonders if she would remember my promise.

I promised that I would never lie to her, no matter what. I promised her that, and I tangentially promised myself the same thing. It was a compromise of sorts. I promised myself that I would somehow manage to keep my big fat mouth shut up until that hypothetical moment when I was asked the right question. When the right question was asked, all vows of silence would be rendered null and void. But until then, I would be silent, more or less. Until then, I would be patient.

But patience, as they say, is a virtue. And it's a virtue in which I feel sorely lacking at times. My patience is tried on a regular basis. I can't stand the thought of misunderstandings and misinterpretations standing in for the truth. I really can't fucking stand it.

So, sometimes, I think about just telling the truth. Wasting the words. To fuck with proper timing and romantic moments and everything else that I've been waiting for. Hoping for. Dreaming of.

Sometimes, I think about just blurting out the words. Wasting the words on unsuspecting and disbelieving ears.

Not all the time, though. Not even most of the time. Usually, I feel strong enough to keep my big fat mouth shut.

Not yet, I tell myself. Someday, almost certainly, but not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

The funny thing about tomorrow is that it never really comes. It's always lurking, just out of reach. Lying in wait.

Vagueness. That's all I ever really get, when I allow myself to imagine the unimaginable. Just the slightest sense of surroundings. The slightest sense of the surreal scene wherein everything comes to a head.

---

It might start with a fight, of sorts. An argument that's not quite taking place. A disagreement still mired in the throes of its own birth. A misunderstanding mangled and mutilated by misinterpretation. Something like that, anyway.

I've had enough. I stand, abruptly and purposefully. On my feet. On a chair. On a table. On a rooftop. On a mountaintop. I find the most visible, the most public place I can find. I can feel myself about to explode from the pressures that I've held back for so long. I will explode, finally and mercifully, and I'm determined that the noise of that explosion will not fall on deaf ears.

I scream the words that I've longed to scream for so long that I cannot remember a time when I didn't long to scream them. With every ounce of strength, I emphasize the words as they rip and tear their way out of me. I exist to say the words, and the words exist to be said.

Funny thing is - the words don't even matter. All that matters is the meaning behind the words. I pour everything I am, everything I ever will be, into the meaning behind the words, and I hope that it's enough. For understanding. For acceptance. For so much more. For everything.

---

Alternatively, it might be expected. Anticipated, even. A quiet moment, perhaps, I imagine, in the midst of a crowd that doesn't matter and that will never matter. A private conversation that crosses some invisible line between friendliness and something else. Something more.

My lips so close to her. My lips brushing her ear, caressing her ear as I say the words that I've longed to say for so long that I cannot remember a time when I didn't long to say them.

By this time, she expects the words from me, and she wants to hear the words from me. She needs to hear the words. From me, of all people. It is as surreal for her as it is for me, and that's saying a lot.

And I say the words in my softest voice, and my lips carve the words into her ear as I say them. And all is good. All is as it should be. I say the words, and my life grinds to a halt as I wait for a response, yet a large part of me doesn't even care what the response might be. She will know, without a doubt, she will know. And I will finally be free of all need for deception and deduction and denial.

---

I suspect that the truth will lie somewhere between these two extremes. I suspect that the truth will seem mundane by comparison. I suspect that the truth will seem boring to everyone except the two of us. Not that I will care what anyone else thinks. They won't matter. I will matter, and she will matter, and that's it.

I like, sometimes, to imagine the unimaginable. It's really not that tough, for me to do so. After all, I live the unimaginable every day. Every single day.

There seems to me a misconception at Rich O's lately. I'm sure I've heard this particular misconception expressed before, but I've heard it twice within the last couple of weeks, and so it may be gaining popularity. At least among the cretins.

The first time, it was this one supremely obnoxious guy. He tried to play himself off like he was some kind of uber regular who'd been coming in since the dawn of time, but my personal opinion is that he was just trying to fit in. Perhaps compensate for a tiny penis. Anyway, the fucker was loud and overbearing and totally clueless. He actually seemed to think that people actually liked him. What a dumbass.

So, he spouted his bullshit, and I didn't pay much attention to it. I treated his words just as I'd been treating him all night. I ignored them.

Then, last night another person expressed the same misconception. And this particular person should know better. She's been coming in long enough to know better, and she's also smart enough to realize that we're supposed to be living in a society that's somewhat evolved from the days when being the loudest and/or the strongest brought power.

This particular misconception, and I think I've got the quote correct, goes like this:

Move your feet, lose your seat.

Steal someone's seat, and you're an asshole.

Anyway.

Last night was kind of boring. I only had a couple of beers. A Schlenkerla Marzen (2930) and an Upland Wheat (206). I spent most of the night on throne listening to everyone else talk and choking on cigar smoke. This one dude's hot sister told me that I smelled good, and I'm pretty sure that Ric Flair was there. Other than that, it was a dull night.

Last night wasn't as bad as I'd feared. So I'm thankful for that. But it still wasn't a particularly good night.

Rich O's proper seemed to be only about half-full, but that was an illusion. Every ostensibly empty seat was being saved, so there was no place to sit. I ended up going out to the special people room and sitting there like a dork for an hour or so, until MusicalYuppieDude texted me that this one weirdo had finally left and that there was a seat available.

So I sat on the sofa and enjoyed my second NABC Flat Tyre (593) of the night. At least I tried to enjoy it. My taste buds were still pretty messed-up.

Eventually, LaptopGirl emailed me that she was coming in, so that cheered me up some. When LaptopGirl arrived, HairDude gave up his seat at the kiddie table so she and I could sit together. We talked about various crap for an hour or so. It was nice to see her, as it had been a trillion years. I'd been hoping that she might want to split a pizza or something, because I was starving to death, but instead she went home.

I came home shortly afterwards, not quite finishing my third Flat Tyre (609).

Oh yeah, I got to hear this one story about a slut. I suppose it was an interesting story. Then I was talking to StupidGirl on the phone and she told me another story about another slut. What is it with all these sluts all of a sudden?

Okay, I hardly ever bother to do this. Link to things I find on the internet, I mean. Because that would mean less attention would be paid to me. But in this case I can't help myself, because it's funny.

Below are two of my favorites. There are many more at Instructions for looking after baby.

I just wanted to jump on here real quick and predict that tonight is going to be the worst night I've had in years.

I'd like to be wrong about this, of course.

I was just trying to think of something to write about. I was having no luck, as I seldom do. I was thinking about the absurdity of it all. Spending my precious time trying to write things that, by my own admission, I don't really want people to read.

But then the absurdity of the word absurdity struck me in the back of the head, that absurdity having been flung perhaps by my cat Buddy, who for some reason has hoisted himself onto the bookshelf behind me.

This thing I use for a life, such as it is - it's taken on a surreal form of absurdity for several months. I can't think of a single thing that's normal. Oh, I'm not saying that things are bad. Not at all. I know bad. I've lived bad. This isn't bad. It's surreal and absurd.

It's kinda like I'm in a play, and all the world's a stage. I pretend because everyone else is pretending. Even though I cannot really accept that anyone believes this crap, I can't be certain that it's not me who's being fooled. So I keep playing along, even though people keep ad-libbing. Even though people keep breaking character. Even though it's absurd, this show still must go on.

I'm in a weird mood.