I suppose that it's relevant that I'm pretty much blind at night; the rods of my eyes having been weakened by sparkles a couple of years ago.

Were those even real?

Does it even matter?

So, I'm blind at night, especially on nights like tonight when the Moon is nowhere to be seen. I cannot see shapes, only varying degrees of blackness.

I couldn't see the one, two, three somethings that crossed my driveway tonight, as I sat in my swing enjoying a Rogue Chocolate Stout (1576). I couldn't see them, but I could tell that they were there. They glided like ghosts, and one of them, the largest, stopped not more than fifteen feet away from me. Fascinated, perhaps, by the glow of my cigarette as it rose and fell between my lap and my mouth. I flicked the butt onto my driveway, and the shape slid silently away.

And those other things, those shadows that flitted about at the very edge of my peripheral vision? They seemed to be jockeying for position. I imagined them chattering to each other, bargaining for their favorite angles. From which to watch me. To wait for me. To attack and devour me.

But I did not fear them, those unseeable monsters that lurked in the dark. Instead, I welcomed them. It had been a long time since I'd felt their presence. I'd actually missed the pitiful horrible things.

Tonight, they left me alone. Without my fear to fuel their bravery, they eventually retreated back to their origins. Back into my own imagination.

I am perfectly content, right now.

I am, once again and finally, blissfully aware of my place in this world.

You know what I hate? Besides everything, I mean?

I hate the way that the entire context of my life changed Saturday night. How, now, no matter what I do or say or don't do or don't say, it all takes on a new relevance simply because LaptopGirl is in town.

There's a spotlight on me now, and all I can do is stand on the stage like a fucking retard. I don't sing, and I don't dance, but people still have their eyes glued to the stage. To see what I'll do.

Like, if I go to Rich O's after work today, then it's clearly because I love her and I'm hoping to run into her. And people will talk.

Or, if I go straight home after work, then I must be trying to avoid her because I hate her guts. And people will talk.

If I take a fucking shower tomorrow morning, will it be because she's in town? If I skip the shower, will it be because I've given up?

Fuck that. I hate it.

I was whining to NotHideousGirl about this today at lunch. She suggested that I just do whatever I want to do, and that I don't allow this change in context to affect any of my decisions.

Well, duh.

Of course that would be the correct play. If I were a self-centered asshole.

But I'm not, contrary to semi-popular belief. I find myself far too often caring about the comfort of certain others.

Like, when LaptopGirl said the word awkward after I waved at her. I cannot ignore that.

So, this sucks.

I can never go to Rich O's again for the rest of my life, so that she won't feel awkward.

I must go to Rich O's every night for the rest of my life, to show that I'm not afraid.

There is a solution to all of this. Unfortunately it's even harder to do than it is to say or spell it.

Spontaneous combustion.

That's the answer for me.

Of course, people would still misinterpret it, but I wouldn't be around to care.

Okay, for the sake of simplicity, let's say I'm normal on this imaginary scale I just thought up.

In fact, let's stipulate that everybody is usually normal.

It's not a looks scale. It's not a personality scale either, though that's a little bit closer. Maybe it's more of a pleasantness, or a niceness scale.

What it is, is a self-scale.

Clear as mud, right?

Let me explain.

Man I've got a lot of paragraphs already.

Does it even count as a paragraph it only has a single sentence? Is a paragraph defined by content or by spacing and/or indentation?

But I wildly digress.

What I mean is, when I feel like myself, when I am behaving like myself, I'm right in the middle on my personal scale. I'm my normal self. When my energy level is low, such as when I'm more sad or tired than normal, my position on my scale worsens. I become less likable, less friendly. When my energy level is higher, like when I'm excited or happy about something (hey, it can happen) then my position on my scale is higher.

Remember, the stipulation that everybody is normal on their own scale. This means that Richard Simmons is normal. A high-school cheerleader is normal. That Virginia Tech fucker was normal, assuming that he was always sad or moody or homicidal or whatever. Hitler was normal. He was an asshole but when he was being his asshole self, then he was also being his normal self.

There is a point to this, really. I'm not just typing to kill time. Well, maybe that's part of the reason, but it's not the only one.

I almost digressed again. Whew!

I don't know if it's really relevant, but any changes to your position must be, by definition, temporary changes. Because if whatever mood swing that's going on lasts too long, then that becomes the new you, and you become normal again. The scale just gets recalibrated. Like, I'm a lot more sad now than I was five years ago. But I was my normal self then, and I'm my normal self now. It's just that normal has changed for me. Does that make sense? I hope so.

We can also affect others, and they can affect us.

And this is the part where I finally get to the fucking point.

Couples can be similarly rated. Ditto for friends and coworkers and siblings and whatever else might bring two or more people together.

Take your average man and wife. He's normal, and so is she. But when they're together, what happens? Do they act differently than they normally would. Does he shut up so she can dominate the conversion? Does she get angry at the way he talks to other women?

What are they like as a couple? Better or worse or the same?

Do they boost each other up, so that their sum is greater than its parts? Or do they drag each other down? Do people really enjoy time with one, or with the other, but never with both at the same time?

When I was with MixedSignalGirl, we boosted each other up pretty well. Most of the time. People generally liked spending time with us. Most of the time. WeirdGirl also seems to be immune to my powers, so the two us together are probably more fun when we're together than when we're separate.

I know a few couples who don't seem to change at all. My sister Neisha and her husband Chris. My friend Eric and his wife Teri. They are exactly the same whether they're together or apart. This, to me, would seem to be the goal of all this.

I also know a few who, like the married couple in the example above, are real downers for each other. Spending time with one of them is great. Spending time with the other one is great too. But put them together and suddenly everyone starts making excuses to get away from them. Or trying to kill themselves because it's just too fucking depressing being around them.

They drag each other down, and then a sort of a singularity forms, and they start affecting everyone around them. And once that happens, the only hope is that some super-positive couple like TeamHotness shows up and reestablishes the balance in the universe.

Like I wrote yesterday, everything seems like a bad idea to me lately

This entry right here is a perfect example. I should not be writing this. There is no good that can come from writing this. It's not only a no-win situation, it's a lose-lose situation. Writing this entry will only make things worse than they already are.

Anyway.

Friday night sucked. I got this damn wild hair up my ass to go over to Louisville and check out this big Derby party they were having at Fourth Street Live.

That was a stupid idea.

As near as I could tell, there was exactly one seat in the entire complex. That seat was, fortunately, at the bar at the Hard Rock. So I sat there and had a BBC Alt (362) and talked very briefly to CoolHairGirl. But she was busy, so I didn't stick around. Nobody I knew was at The Pub, plus there were no seats available there, so I left and went to Rich O's.

I was in a shitty mood. I should have just stayed home.

But what I did instead was sit on the sofa for about ten seconds. Then people tried to talk to me so I moved to the island. I had a couple pints of a new beer:

Brooklyn Brown Ale (40)

(draft) Almost black with a decent tan head. Aroma of malts, and not much else. Same for the flavor. No bitterness. I liked it.

Saturday sucked. I spent the entire day feeling worse than I'd felt in months. Like the absence which had been my constant companion, like it had suddenly decided to turn on me. It became a giant hand which closed around my throat and squeezed as hard as it could.

Then I walked into Rich O's. I'd planned to just sit at the bar and be a hermit for a while. I was looking forward to it actually. So I walked straight through the door and straight to the bar. I ordered a Delirium Tremens (940).

Then I heard a voice.

Her voice.

I turned around, and there was LaptopGirl. Sitting with her friends BigWheelGirl and WeatherGirl.

I waved.

She waved back. I heard her say the word awkward to her friends.

And that was it. I wasn't invited over to join them, and I certainly wasn't going to impose myself on them.

So I sat at the fucking bar like a weirdo and watched my hands shake away every bit of progress I've made since last Summer.

Then I had another Tremens (957).

Then I went home (waved goodbye, got a wave back) and sat on my swing, and had a couple bottles of O'Fallon Smoked Porter (72).

Then I went to bed and stared at my ceiling until this afternoon when it was time to get ready for this family reunion thingy at my sister's house.

While there, I had four yummy bottles of Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Weizen (171). Then I came home and wrote this crap of an entry.

Sometimes the stupidest little things strike me as hilarious.

Such as, for example, when I send a text message referring to myself as a creepy old fat fucker, and I get a response back saying that I'm not creepy.

Thanks, MusicalYuppieDude, I really needed the laugh tonight.

Sometimes I really hate it when I'm right.

I'm having a shitty day.

I don't feel like doing anything at all, and I haven't done much of anything. Shot some pool and played with my cats. Caught up on Survivor. Ate a bowl of cereal. Clipped my toenails.

Usually, when I get like this, it's because I feel like it's all a waste of time. But today it's a little different. Today everything seems like a really really bad idea.

Like anything I might do would only end up being a big fat disappointment.

Or, perhaps, I'd manage to screw up a good thing by doing or saying something stupid.

To have something turn out to be nothing more than a waste of time, that would be a welcome relief right about now.

Hmmmm, Wednesday already. Seems like I haven't posted anything in days. And it's only been since late Monday. Or just a few hours, if you count the shaved pussies entry.

My cats Buddy and Happy seem to have taken their groomings in stride. But Nugget, my other cat, is catatonic. He doesn't recognize his friends at all, and he's done nothing but cower in the basement since yesterday. I feel bad, and he's going to feel really stupid when he figures out that he's been so freaked-out and it was Happy and Buddy all along.

Anyway, SassyGirl is back in town! Yay!

She called me yesterday after work, and so of course I went down to meet her and JauntyGirl at Rich O's. The reunion wasn't as poignant as the one in March had been, but why should it have been? It's only been a few weeks this time. Still, it's always very cool to see her.

Oh yeah, she told me that her parents have admitted to reading this journal. So, Hi, SassyGirl's parents! You raised one hell of a good daughter there. I hope you're proud.

Other than seeing SassyGirl, and having two of my cats shaved, not much going on around here. At least nothing much that I can think of at the moment.

Anybody watch Heroes Monday night? That Parkman guy turned into a real dick, didn't he?

I guess that's it for now.

Before:

After:

I wrote some crap today. Spent a lot of time on it actually. But it's not finished yet. I think I might revamp the whole thing before I post it.

So, instead, you get this nonsense.

I think I might be what you'd call an old soul. An old something, that's for sure.

I'm like the stereotypical old woman, haunting her own house, alone, surrounded by photographs of days gone by, and of loved ones gone bye-bye. The memories they invoke - they bring her happiness, or they bring her sadness. But they always bring her something. And something can be everything, when the alternative is nothing.

So what if my photographs are all in my head? That makes little difference, I think.

I'm so glad that it's finally warm outside. I can go out and sit on my swing in the dark, when it's warm. I like it out there. I can be completely alone with my thoughts, or I can imagine that I'm not alone, that someone sits beside me, and the darkness of the night hides my deception from myself.

Sometimes people worry about me. They don't need to do that.

I'm just fine.

I think I'm just acting my age.