Question: What am I supposed to say or do to make this any easier for you?

Answer: There is nothing that I can do or say. I must appear to be neutral, for as long as I can.

Back in May, I wrote this drivel:

I don't like the way things seem to be turning, but all I can do is wish you well. I can't really help you with this. I could never be objective enough to give you untainted advice.

The situation is different now, but some things have remained the same.

I am not neutral. I can not even pretend to be objective.

I do care what happens. I care very much. Too fucking much.

Today was a good day!

It's RockGirl's birthday! Happy Birthday, RockGirl!

Yay!

I got an email from SassyGirl! I hadn't heard shit from her since she fled the country in September, but today I got an email!

Yay!

I got an email from BadPickleGirl! And then later I got to talk to her!

Yay!

I was reading something today about identities. How we perceive ourselves. How we present ourselves. One of the points made was that too many people will look to what they do for a living when searching for their identity.

If you're a rock star or a movie star or something like that, well that's not too bad. People like rock stars and movie stars. Girls want to screw them. Guys want to be them.

I'm a computer systems engineer. That's not quite as interesting.

See, I just did it, right there. I said, I'm a computer systems engineer. That's how I identified myself. I may as well have said, I'm a boring nerd. Someday, before I die, I hope to touch a woman's breast.

Okay, so I take what I do for a living, and I throw it away. It no longer factors into my identity.

What's left?

Let's try, I'm a writer. I made that absurd statement in October.

That's a little better. It implies creativity, and thoughtfulness. Maybe some intelligence.

But the problem with identifying myself as a writer is - get this - that I have to write. And a fucking blog doesn't count to 99% of the world. So I have to be a real writer and, not only that, I have to write well.

Otherwise, I'm a failure. And that's even worse than a boring nerd hoping to get to second base.

So that identity is out too.

Is there anything else? Who the fuck am I?

How about, I'm a pool player.

Yeah, that's what people want to hear. I poke balls with a stick. I hang out in seedy bars with criminals and I hustle money from people. Sometimes I hit them over the head with pool cues, just for the fuck of it.

Obviously, not the identity I want to present.

And let's not forget beer snob, but I don't think I have to list what's wrong with that identity.

I was going somewhere with this. I really was. But now it's late, and I have to sleep.

Hmmm.

I'm a sleeper.

Maybe I'll use that for a while.

This isn't going to make any sense to some of you. Perhaps to most of you. Either deal with it, or not. Like I fucking care.

If you found yourself in my position, you'd subject yourself to these same restraints. I guarantee it.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that I need a girlfriend now. This is different than the previous 1.3 billion or so seconds of my life, during which I only wanted a girlfriend.

Wants vs. needs have been a big topic for me lately. In my thoughts, and in my writing. I've written about how the needs stay the same, but the wants wander all over the fucking place. I've written about how the needs are facts, but the wants are nothing more than opinions.

I cannot, for example, say that I need her in my life. I cannot say it because it's clearly not true. I've already gone an awfully long time without her, and I'm still here. My fucking heart still beats, marking even more wasted time..

I can't say that I need her in my life. I've already proven otherwise. No matter how painful it's been and no matter how painful it continues to be, she is still just a want for me. Not a need.

I forget where I'm going with this.

Oh, yeah.

I'm pretty sure that, right now, I actually need a girlfriend. Not so that I can live. That would be silly. But maybe I need a girlfriend so I can get some help with something.

See, it's become perfectly clear to me that I cannot do this on my own. I've done everything that I've been able to will myself to do. I've climbed my way out of this damn abyss. Finally. I fell back down more times than I can count, but I kept trying, and I finally made it to safety. In August.

That should have been the hard part. Everything else should be easy. But I can't take that next step. I can't go any further.

I can't turn my back, and I can't walk away.

Imagine, if you will, that you lived at the edge of the Grand Canyon. Imagine what your life would be like. The sights you would see. Imagine having your morning coffee on your deck as you watch the Sun rise over the canyon.

What you imagine, that is my life.

I cannot look away. It's too alluring. Too beautiful. Too dangerous.

I am still, after all these months, mesmerized.

I cannot leave the ledge. Not on my own.

I need help.

I need to move on. I want to move on.

But I need help.

I need to be pulled, kicking and screaming, from here. I need this trance to be broken. I need to be bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and whisked away to another place.

Any other place.

I'm pretty sure that I need a girlfriend.

I've been trying to remember if I ever saw them both on the same night before. I can't recall any such night.

Hey universe, seriously, one per night is enough, okay?

My night started out at The Pub in Louisville, with some curry fries and a yummy Newcastle (2934). Shortly after I arrived, I found myself wondering if I'd see MixedSignalGirl. I just had a feeling that I would. I actually got a little nervous just thinking about it. So, to either ease or confirm my concern, I asked her. I texted her, told her I was at The Pub, and asked if she'd be there.

She responded that she'd be there at 8:30.

Yay!

I found myself with forty-five minutes to kill - forty-five minutes which dragged on for a million years. It would have been nice if I could have gone into a quickie coma or something so I wouldn't have had to wait. It's funny. I've played very important pool matches. I've presented to captains of industry, and generals of the military. I can speak to any crowd on a wide range of topics. I don't get nervous doing any of those things. Yet, when it comes to MixedSignalGirl, I still shake like a leaf. I had another Newcastle (2954) to calm my nerves.

She showed up right on time, which was odd. She was beautiful, which was expected.

The Pub was pretty busy. There were no booths open. Plus this one cow that we didn't want to see was there, so we went across the street to the poolhall Felt where we could have some privacy.

It was very nice to see her. The friendship is still there. I'd had no real idea, until last week, how much the thought that she hated me was dragging me down. When I saw her last week, a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. This was more of the same. I float when I'm with her. We're friends again. Anything else, well anything else still seems to be beyond our capabilities. Eventually, we'll learn to deal with that.

At 9:30, her friends started calling her, wondering where she was, and so we parted company.

Next, I went to Hard Rock and had a Winter's Bourbon Cask Ale (84). I tried to talk to CoolHairGirl, but it was pretty busy in there, so we only got to chat for a minute or two. One thing she told me was that she'd never had a Newcastle. I told her that The Pub has the best Newcastle around, and she said that she might go in there with her friend later. She promised to let me know what she thought.

Next, I went over to Rich O's. I went to the restroom as soon as I arrived, and when I came out, lo and behold, there was LaptopGirl, standing there talking to ExBartender.

Yay!

I said Hi and waved at her, even though I was standing about a foot from her. I was a little flustered. I'd been all set to spend the rest of the night missing MixedSignalGirl, and those plans had suddenly gone out the window. Now, I had to shift gears. Now I had to act like a normal person for a while. Make LaptopGirl think I was a normal person.

Inside Rich O's proper, I talked to MisunderstoodGirl for a minute or two. Normally, of course, seeing MisunderstoodGirl would be a cause for minor celebration and several minutes of talk. But not with LaptopGirl in the room. Plus, she was busy talking with OddlyPrettyGirl.

The throne was empty, so I sat there. On the sofa sat BigWheelGirl, LaptopGirl, and WeatherGirl. On the loveseat sat a couple of hippies. Those five were all there together, and I felt a little bit like I was intruding. But what was I supposed to do, sit at the bar? With LaptopGirl to my back? No fucking way.

Oh yeah, beer. I had a Wostyntje (109), and a small sample of something new to me.

Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout (4)

(draft) Black with a large tan head. Fantastic chocolate and malt aroma. The flavor is chocolately and roasty. Very roasty. I'm not even sure that's a word, but I'm using it anyway. Pretty damn good. The 10.6% ABV is very well hidden.

But, she wasn't there to see me. She was there with her friends. And I didn't want to intrude. Actually, that's a lie. I most certainly did want to intrude. I wanted to intrude the hell out of her. Drag her off someplace so we could have an actual conversation. Like the old days. I wanted to intrude, but I somehow restrained myself. Like the old days.

After a while, I gleaned that she'd be heading Westward again soon. So when she got up to leave, I must have said goodbye about a million times. That wasn't enough, so when she was out in the front area saying goodbye to some people out there, I stood and I watched her, and every time our eyes met, I mouthed the word goodbye again.

And then she left, and I started missing her again.

After that, I spent some time spilling my guts to WeatherGirl, because she asked, then I spent some more time trying to undo that damage.

After they started kicking everyone out of Rich O's, I went over to this Jack's place and had myself a PBR (36) and pretended that I was a normal person again.

I think it's official now. Everybody knows.

Here's the deal: I can keep my big fat mouth shut, but only as long as I'm not asked.

Tonight, someone asked.

Someone looked into my eyes, and sensed the truth, and asked the obvious question. Even though she already knew the answer, she asked the question.

What was I supposed to do? Lie about it?

No fucking way. Not about that. Not about her.

I answered the question. I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

And now, now everyone on Earth knows.

And it still makes no difference.

I'm still alone. I still miss her.

All is still as it should be.

Dammit.

...I totally forgot to write about the other cool thing that happened last Friday night.

The first, and coolest by far, thing was getting to see MixedSignalGirl again. But the second thing was kinda neat too.

I got to the parking garage for Louisville's Fourth Street Live at 7:00 or so. I got there early because (a) I was hungry, and (b) I was bored at the tournament.

So I took the stairs down to ground level and just when I walked by the elevator some lazy people got out of it.

One of the girls was very hot and, more than that, she looked really familiar to me. I mean really familiar, if you know what I mean. Hint hint. Nudge nudge.

Anyway, I ended up behind the people at the ID-checking line, and then I walked around them to go to The Red Star Tavern. All along the way I wracked my brain trying to figure out who the hot girl had been.

Then, I was sitting at the bar at The Red Star, and she came in with her group.

Since I had a few minutes to kill while I waited for my food to arrive, I stared at the hot girl and tried to remember who she was and how many times I'd boinked her.

Finally, I figured it out.

I'd never boinked her. She was one of my cousins!

My third-cousin, actually. At least I think that's the way it works. Her mom and my dad were first-cousins, so her mom would be my second-cousin, and that would make the hot girl my third cousin. I think.

So, when she walked into my general vicinity, I asked her if she was who I thought she was.

She was indeed. Took her a second to recognize me though. She probably thought I was just some creep trying to hit on her. Well, I wasn't. I was some third-cousin trying to hit on her.

Plus, she'd never seen me all evil and shit before. Plus, I hadn't seen her since my grandfather's funeral back in 1991. The reason that I'd remembered her so easily was that she was hot, and I'd had a crush on her back in school.

We'd graduated the same year. She's aged even better than I have, if you can believe that.

We chatted for a minute or two, then she went back to her group. One of them is probably her husband. I hate him.

It's okay to lust after third-cousins, right?

Yesterday, for lunch, I had four french fries and a Newcastle (2914) at The Pub. After that, I was completely stuffed, but I wasn't sick.

Yay!

So, armed with renewed confidence that my innards would function correctly, and bristling with excitement over HatGirl telling me that she'd be at Rich O's, I went there.

I arrived a little after 9:00. HatGirl and LuckyFucker were sitting out front. This told me that Rich O's proper was full. Probably with idiots and/or weirdoes, but full in any event. Like I cared about Rich O's proper when HatGirl was sitting out front.

HatGirl!

Yay!

I joined them and checked out the beer board. Rogue Chocolate Stout was still on. There was also a Brooklyn Chocolate Stout that I'd been looking forward to trying. But I just couldn't bring myself to have either of them. See, the last beer that I had, last Saturday, before I exploded all over myself and my bathroom, was a BBC Dark Star Porter (288). It wasn't the beer's fault that I got sick, but I still felt some kind of subconscious reflexive aversion to dark and rich beers.

I had myself a Wostyntje Mustard Ale (89) and it was very yummy.

We sat and talked for an hour or so. LuckyFucker rambled on about some ninja show he'd watched. HatGirl expressed concern about what to do with her little dog. They're going on a trip, and she doesn't want to leave the dog. So I suggested that she just take the dog with her.

"But I can't take her into places," she pointed out.

"You can if people think you're blind," I suggested. "In fact, I suspect that people already assume that you're blind, when they see you with LuckyFucker."

Zing! Take that LuckyFucker!

Anyway, I thought it was funny.

After my friends left, I went on into Rich O's proper. It was pretty packed, mostly with semi-regulars. I talked to MusicalYuppieDude for a bit, and to WomanRepellant for a bit. MusicalYuppieDude noticed that I'd lost weight. I told him about what I'd gone through to accomplish that feat. He agreed that it probably wasn't worth it.

I ended up sitting on the sofa with a bunch of people that I don't know. I had another Wostyntje (99) and then I came home at 11:30 or so.

Oh yeah - at HatGirl's birthday party, GlassesGirl had said that she might show up with my "long lost stepbrother" in tow. That had caused some speculation as to who she might mean. It turns out that she'd meant it literally. I did, for a brief period of time around 1990, have a stepbrother. When my dad remarried after my mom died, his new wife had a son. J-something. I only met him once. Anyway, that was who GlassesGirl was talking about.

Hopefully this is the saddest news I'll hear today.

I've written before, here and here, about Dino, my neighbor's dog. The last time I mentioned him was last month. I'd been talking to my neighbor's daughter, and she'd told me that Dino was feeling his age quite a bit, and that he'd probably be gone soon.

I told myself then that, the next time I saw lounging in his yard, I'd walk over to see him.

I never did see him, so I never took that walk.

And now it's too late.

My neighbor told me this morning that she'd had poor Dino put down. His arthritis had progressed to the point where he couldn't even walk anymore, and he was in constant pain. And now his pain is over.

I'm sad. He was the first living creature to greet me after I moved into this house. I'd been out shoveling snow and he came running across the street at me. I remember thinking for a second that he was going to attack me or something, but all he wanted to do was try to catch the flung snow before it hit the ground.

To anyone driving by that day, I must have looked like a real asshole, throwing shovelful after shovelful of snow at that dog. But I couldn't have missed him if I'd tried, and he had fun, and so did I.

He was a good boy.

...I'm still alive.

I even felt good enough to go to work today. But then people started talking about food, and one guy even *gasp* started eating food right in front of me.

I got sick again, and came home.

Supposedly there was something in the paper this morning about this stomach flu that's going around. I guess some people are vomiting up to twenty times a day. Well I don't think I quite hit that mark on Sunday, but I wasn't really counting.

And right now, right now I feel fine.

I'm actually hungry. I found some crackers, and the thought of actually eating them isn't making me queasy. I might just get brave and try a couple.

Meanwhile, I've lost almost two belt notches since this started Saturday night.