In a perfect world, I don't think anyone would care about how someone used to be. It should be obvious, after all is said and done, that it's how a person actually is that's more important.

A guy could have been, for example, a real asshole in high school but be a great friend now.

And even more important than how a person is would be how a person will be.

Like, a girl could be a total slut now but eventually she could settle down and be faithful.

There are three problems with all of this.

1. It's not a perfect world.
2. We can't see into the future, so we have to make guesstimations based on present and past behavior.
3. Sometimes past and/or present behavior simply cannot be ignored. See numbers 1 and 2 above.

To summarize, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

I get up. I go to work. I go to Rich O's. I go home. I sleep. On the weekends I might mix things up a bit. I don't work, for one thing. And maybe I'll go to stupid Bearno's and hang out with an old spark for a while. On Sundays maybe I'll meet OddlyFamiliarGirl at Jack's.

I go through the motions of life, just like everything is normal. But, what is normal? I mean, I'm a guy who dreamed for years and suddenly I found myself living a nightmare from which I refused to awaken. Who am I to even pretend to know what's normal?

I glare at my phone not out of hope but out of paralysing dread. Out of dread that it will remain silent, or out of dread that it will sound. My motivation varies with my mood.

I've not awakened from this nightmare. Things are not normal. I pretend because I don't want people to worry about me. I pretend because I don't want people to blame her for my problems. I pretend because maybe, just maybe every now and then, I'll fool myself.

It hasn't happened yet. I may be too smart to believe my own lies, but I'll keep trying. For a while, at least.

Happy birthday to my sister Dina!

I see denial and I see fear. I see timidity and I see delusion.

I see uncertainty and I see anger and I see sorrow and I see regret.

Closing my eyes, that's not an option, no matter what everyone on Earth thinks. It's already burned into my brain.

I'm really tired. Of being deemed useless and insignificant. Of being invisible. Of everything.

That first step?

It was a doozy.

I had this brilliantstupid idea to relieve some boredom by writing an entry. The one I was going to write was that I was going to pick November 18th - I picked today's date because it seemed as good as any - for the last several years, and say what I was doing and thinking and so on.

It was a terrible idea. I've been too fucking sad for too fucking long, and I don't want to write about that anymore, but that's all there is.

There is more to say. More that I need to say. Wants went out the window a long time ago, and all that's left are needs.

You might think that I've said everything. You might think that I've run out of things to say and so I've simply repeated myself over and over and over and over.

But, you would be wrong.

There's so much that's been left unsaid.

As the walls go up, the truth makes a panicked and desperate dash toward freedom, lest it be trapped forever.

There are reasons for all of this. Reasons, I mean, besides the obvious.

If the truth is hidden away and silenced, does it even count? Is it still true?

There is more to say.

(During a morning re-read, the above came off as slightly ominous. That was not the intent at all.)

I know I know, things change all the time. What I say one day might not be truth on the next day. But, this is my journal, and I'm going to make use of it.

This is what is true today and this is what's been eating at me.

I fucked up. I've managed to lose the two most important people in my life. One was my best friend, and the other was most definitely not a friend but she was something. Something both above and below friendship. I truly fear that I'll never hear from either of them again, and quite frankly that's probably the fate that I deserve.

And just because the loss of one of these people might have been overdue and necessary and perhaps even desired, that doesn't lessen the sting at all. Losing her stings like a bitch, and the only thing that's keeping me somewhat afloat is the feeling that this will be the last time I have to go through this.

Because there will never be another like her. I won't let that happen.

And the other one I've lost? My true and faithful friend? Well, my brain just cannot process that particular loss. Every time I try to think about losing her it's like a safety valve somewhere in my head snaps shut.

What's true today may not be true tomorrow, but today the truth is that I feel more alone than I ever have before, and it's my own fucking fault.

This isn't going to work. I can't write anything now. I'm too fucking tired. I'm pretty sure I slept Wednesday night, but I'm equally sure that was the last time.

I just watched a movie. And in that movie a plane was about to crash. And on that plane people held hands when they thought they were about to die. I know, it was just a movie, but those people in their last moments of life touched another person. If they were lucky, they got to touch a person they loved.

I can't write this. There's no point.

Welcoming even the slightest distractions these days, I couldn't help but notice this.

We have a weirdo at work. One of several, actually, but this particular weirdo is at least being original about it.

For one thing, he spends a lot of time standing in his cubicle. His job is to sit at a computer and talk on the phone, but he chooses to stand. A lot. His head poking above the cubicle walls always reminds me of prairie dogs sticking up out of their holes.

Anyway, this morning I was in the breakroom and the weirdo came in. He stopped in front of the Coke machine, whipped out his phone, and took a picture of the machine. Then, he left the room.

So, thanks, weirdo standing picture-taking dude! You managed to distract me quite well this morning.