I'm in a weird mood. Weird, huh?

I should go somewhere this weekend. I should go to Covington. I say that every weekend. It's become a bit of a tired joke with RockGirl:

I should go to Covington this weekend.

Then, sometime Saturday evening:

I should have gone to Covington.

I never go anywhere. I always want to go, but then I don't. I don't know why. Lack of motivation, I suppose.

I'll go see StupidGirl in February. That seems like a million years from now. A lot can happen between now and then, so it's kinda hard to get excited.

I could die between now and then, for instance. Or StupidGirl could get married or something. I'd still go to Las Vegas if that happened, it just wouldn't be as much fun.

I think that, if I had to pick a word to label this mood I'm in, that word would be conversational. I want to have a couple discussions and try to sort some things out. It probably won't happen, though. People, including my lovely self, get too defensive and accusatory. It makes rational conversation almost impossible.

I just can't help but think about the .0000001% chance that things could work out. That tiny chance makes me feel like a jerk and it keeps me awake at night and it keeps me from lowering my foot.

Anyway, I guess I should get ready for this meeting.

I think I wantneed to expand a little on the quickie I just posted, "My brain is stuck in a groove today."

This has happened before. A couple of times over the last few years, it's happened. I somehow go from thinking about the same thing (you get one guess) every few seconds to thinking about nothing else at all. I somehow still manage to breathe and stuff, but it takes a conscious effort.

In the past, this has usually led to constant sadness or incessant giddiness. But today, today it's not really leading anywhere. It just is.

To paraphrase something that was recently said to me, "I should be more upset about this, but I'm not."

Very, very strange.

Odds are very good that I'm simply in denial, and that once my subconscious recognizes the harsh reality of this mess, I'll fall apart. But that's okay. If that's what it takes for this to be over, then that's a price I can pay. I've wanted this to be over for a very long time.

Besides, I've fallen apart before, and maybe this will be the last time it ever happens.

Yeah, right.

There was an unanticipated side-effect of writing that drivel yesterday. I really should have anticipated it, though. It's happened before, it's just been a long time.

The ability to just vent a little, albeit in written form, did wonders for my mood. There have been so many things I've wanted to say over the years, but I've stayed relatively silent.

That's still going to happen, in most cases.

Right now, I'm battling on two fronts. It kinda sucks.

In one case, I want resolution like I want to breathe. In the other case, I want it to be over, one way or another, no matter the cost. I may not get what I want in either case. Like I said, it kinda sucks.

Anyway, people will say whatever it takes to make themselves feel better about themselves regarding a bad situation. Even when they have to lie to themselves to say it. Making the other person the "bad" one is far more important than truth and personal responsibility.

Just kind of trying to get my thoughts together now. No easy feat; they're running and jumping around inside my head like they saw a spider in there or something. Maybe they did. That would be weird, but it might also explain some things, like the cobwebs that have been impairing my judgment lately. It would also explain the screams.

I had such a bad day Saturday. I'm still in shock from it. Both because of the complete meltdown I witnessed, and because of the way I reacted to it. Maybe it was necessary. Maybe I needed something to push me out of this place. This place I've been shown over and over and over. This ever-shrinking place. This terrible and wonderful place that's been my home and my cage for over seven years.

I'm trying to take a step. That's all it should take. Just one little step in any direction, and I'll be gone. Somewhere else. It has to be better, right?

Right?

Oh, here's a thought.

Maybe I really did die back in 2004. Maybe it wasn't a metaphor at all. I've heard stories about how sometimes, when people die, their ghosts are trapped and left to wander and moan and stuff.

Maybe I'm a ghost, stuck in this place because I have unfinished business here. Not that I know what that business might be. I used to think that I knew. I was wrong.

Anyway, boo!

It shouldn't be this hard. Nothing should be this hard.

Just take a damn step, Dave.

Okay, good, you picked up your foot. Was that so bad?

Now, just put your foot down somewhere else. I don't care where, just so long as it's outside this place.

Just do it, you pussy! Be a man and put your foot down!

I think the same thing so many times. I wonder so many times. I think that this is the love of my life, and I wonder what the fuck I'm doing. I wonder what I could possibly be doing, with my foot hanging in the air like this.

There will, by definition, never be another. So as soon as I leave this place, as soon as I put my foot down outside of this place, I'll might be nowhere at all. I wonder if it's an illusion. I think that maybe nothing exists outside of this place. I wonder if I'll simply disappear. I wonder if that would be a good thing.

It shouldn't be this hard.

That one thing: Nope.
That other thing: Not anymore.
That really unlikely thing: Never, really.

Without trust, everything else is irrelevant.

This is just a quick story about how my brain works. If you nod your head while watching this, you must know me pretty well.

(This is a flash video that I don't feel like converting and uploading to YouTube. It was pretty boring anyway.

The other day I was at this gas station, and this chick was holding up the line yakking with the cashier. Instead of murdering her, I eavesdropped.

She was talking about one time she'd gotten so mad that she'd driven all the way to Atlanta.

Well, I beat that feat easily. I got so mad in March that I drove all the way to Charleston SC. And the only reason I stopped driving was because there was an ocean in my way.

Stupid ocean.

It's not that I don't care, it's that I wish that I didn't care.

Because there's just no point to caring. To any of it. It's all a waste of time and emotion. To care and wish and yearn and desire. To fucking know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it will all be worth it in the end. And then to be dismissed over and over and over and over and over.

To hurt just for the sake of hurting, because that's all there is, and because that's all there will ever be.

It's all pointless. Nothing good will happen. Not for me.

It's not that I don't want to reply, it's that I wish that I didn't want to reply.

Being a good person feels wonderful, for a while. I live to be useful to the people I care about. Until I start to feel like I'm being taken advantage of. Once that happens, once that really starts to sink in, that's when being a good person feels pointless, like everything else. Friendship. Love. Everything. Pointless.

It's not that I don't want to be there, it's that I wish that I didn't want to be there.

Maybe even worse than pointless.

I feel like a fucking doormat. Again.

Dammit.

It's not that I don't care, it's that I wish, with all my heart, that I didn't care. That I would stop. That this would all just stop.

I had a bad day. It fit in nicely with all of the previous days.

Blow after blow land square and hard. He stands, somehow he's remained standing. His knees, however, have become weak. He wobbles. His mind wanders to escape the pain. He forgets why he stands. Soon, he will fall, and the count will begin.

I thought that I felt like writing something. I really did. I even had a couple potential topics in mind. But then, when I sat down at this computer, I lost all interest in writing.

So what I'll do instead is what I always do. I'll repost an old entry from back when I used to write.

Okay, I'm plagiarizing myself here, but it's okay - I gave myself permission.

I hate the Fall.

Too many things have happened to me at this time of the year. There are very few good memories, only memories of death and dying and loss and pain.

I look out my window, and I see that everything around me is dying. The sky is gray, the grass a dull brown. My yard is littered with fallen leaves.

The only things giving color to the world are the leaves. Many of them still cling to their branches, but inevitably, they too will fall and join corpses of their brothers on the ground below. And when they fall, when they spin or glide or spiral through the air, that is when they're at their most beautiful. The death of each leaf is a dance.

I like to stand outside my building at work, when the ivy leaves are falling. Sometimes, a leaf will get caught in the winds swirling around the buildings. Sometimes, a leaf will take a long time to fall, and it will dance in the air for me. If I'm quick enough, and if the winds are just right, I can catch a leaf before it hits the ground. Before its dance is over forever.

My grandmother used to tell me that it was good luck, catching a falling leaf. I'll hold the stem between my thumb and forefinger, and I'll twirl it for a bit, then I'll open my hand and let it finish its fall. Let it finish dying.

Sometimes I envy those leaves. Their most beautiful moment comes at the end of their lives. They don't have to keep living and remembering how wonderful things used to be. And when they fall, they don't have to get back up.

Sometimes I want so badly to reply, but that's not allowed. It's not real communication, after all. It's just an illusion, like everything else.