Now I'm going to actually leave my house.

During the day.

I'm going to drive. And drive. And drive.

I'll probably come back, but not because I'll want to come back.

And certainly not because there's a reason to come back.

8:00
I haven't cheated on a entry like this in a while. By taking notes. Tonight seems like it's going to be one of those nights though. Boring and irritating and disappointing.

I got here about 15 minutes ago. There are fuckers sitting and eating in the living room, but I had to sit with them for a bit because there were no other seats available. Now I'm at the kiddie table - the people who'd been here left for a table out front. Good riddance.

I'm having a Rogue Smoke (460) and I'm already regretting coming here tonight.

8:05
I hope this fat fucker leaves the bar so I can move up there. I hate this little table. That picture of me and SassyGirl is right in front of me, reminding me of all of the people who don't come in here anymore. Plus the ghost never sits at this table with me.

8:10
There are three semi-hot girls sitting at the island. I bet if I drink enough I can promote them to fully-hot.

8:17
I managed to stay awake through HatGirl's ringer, and I left a message.

8:23
This is stupid. What am I doing here?

8:26
I think these fuckers might be leaving!

8:32
Nope. They ordered another round. I hate them.

8:40
I hate this fat fucker at the bar too.

8:42
Oh fucking boy, that one shithead is here now. I hate him as well.

8:43
I think I hate most people tonight.

8:45
Damn, it just got crowded in here!

8:46
Notice how I haven't used any variant of the word fuck in four minutes? I must be slipping.

8:49
Another Rogue Smoke (480). Yummy.

8:51
That one shithead started talking the second he walked into the room. I predict that he will shut up no earlier than 11:00.

8:56
The guy finally left the bar. Yay! I'm moving up there.

9:00
I have drunk-texted BadPickleGirl.

9:08
Piss time.

9:14
I never said it was a good idea, I just said it was different.

9:29
This is a shitty night. No responses to anything. And, for those keeping score at home, that shithead has not closed his mouth even once.

9:36
This one dude is pissing me off, carrying on like he didn't just throw something wonderful away.

9:44
This was a waste of time. I'm outta here.

9:56
I'm at this Mac's place that I don't like. I'd thought that NotHideousGirl might be here, but she's not. This place sucks.

9:57
I'm having a Newcastle (2602).

10:00
They're having a Halloween party here tonight.

10:04
You know who I hate? Whores, that's who.

10:08
There are three hot girls with spray-on pants standing right in front of me. Maybe my life isn't so bad after all.

10:12
Piss time.

10:25
They're starting karaoke now. It might be entertaining.

10:28
You ever think of a million reasons why something is a bad idea, but you don't care? I'm doing it right now.

10:37
Piss time. That's not the bad idea though.

10:39
A bunch of weirdoes have joined me at my table.

10:44
Having another Newcastle (2618).

10:47
This Pocahontas chick is an awesome singer!

11:30
I've been talking to Pocahontas. She's nice. Finally, the night doesn't feel as much like a total waste.

Today I got to take a half day off. This is my reward for putting up with being on-call last week.

So, yay!

Also, I got the pictures from BadPickleGirl. One of the pictures features flab oozing out of my shirt. And not in an attractive away.

So, boo!

This time, I thought, it will be different. This time, I will not cower inside the cell of my own doubts while fear and uncertainty stand vigilant sentry. This time, if I fail, there will be a reason.

Those might have been the last coherent thoughts that I had today.

I don't know how those turtles do it. Stick their necks out like that all the time.

But it's something that I had to do, if things were truly going to be different.

So I did it.

Too soon, people will say.

Better than too late, I will respond.

And now I wait.

You failed again, people will say.

At least I tried this time, I will respond.

Yesterday I was poking around The Dilbert Blog, which might be more accurately called The Scott Adams Blog but then it might only get a zillionth of the traffic it gets.

Seriously, this guy could trip over his cat, fall on his keyboard, and the resulting post would net ten thousand hits and one thousand comments.

Anyway, I really like it. Scott Adams writes the way I wish I wrote. He writes the way things sound in my head.

So I was reading an old entry about affirmations, which is this deal where you write down something that you want to accomplish and it comes true. Specifically, you write down your goal fifteen times a day for at least six months. And then it comes true.

You write, for example, I will cure cancer. You write that fifteen times a day for six months, and then you cure cancer.

Sounds pretty fishy, right?

Shouldn't that be Smells pretty fishy? I don't know. Or care.

I decided to give these affirmations thingies a try. What's the worst that could happen? That they wouldn't work. That I wouldn't achieve whichever goal I was trying to achieve.

Well, whichever goal I chose would be one that I wasn't achieving anyway, so there's no loss. Try to keep up please.

The decision to do the affirmations having been made, I had one final choice.

Which goal should I pick?

The cure cancer one is too obvious. I bet a lot of people are already doing that one. I'd hate to waste my affirmations on something only to find out that some prick had already achieved my goal.

In fact, I figured that most of the selfless goals like the cancer one and world peace were already taken. So I needed to find something more personal.

I toyed briefly with improbable goals like I will find a gazillion dollars, and seemingly impossible goals like I will understand women, and countless others, but none really jumped out to me as the goal which would be worth the effort of writing it down fifteen times a day for six months.

I was getting frustrated with myself, and I went to the kitchen to refill my soda.

And I tripped over my dick.

Again.

After that, I realized that the choice was easy.

So I grabbed my pen, and I opened my new affirmations-only notebook to the first page, and I wrote.

I will stop tripping over my dick.

I wrote that fifteen times.

I even wrote the date at the top of the page, though I don't think that's an official part of the affirmations rule. I just thought it made the whole thing look more official.

If this works for me, then I'll finally be rid of a curse that's plagued me since puberty.

I'll keep you posted.

I've got nothing to say tonight.

I'm all tapped out from another project.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write something brilliant.

Everybody can start holding their breath now.

I think what would be a good thing to do, if you were a car thief, would be if you always replaced the car you stole with a little Matchbox version of the same car.

People would be like Woah, somebody stole my car! And then they'd see the Matchbox car and be like Wait, it's not stolen, it's just been turned into a Matchbox!

And they'd never report it to the police because who'd believe that their car had been turned into a Matchbox?

Somebody told me today that I shouldn't censor myself here. This was well-intentioned advice from a person who, I'm assuming, doesn't have a blog out here for the world to see. A person who, I'm assuming, doesn't have to live with the fact that they're basically standing in a fishbowl with their pants around their ankles while friends and enemies and strangers all point and make judgments and assumptions.

As I said, well-intentioned advice. Just not particularly doable. Or not not doable, since I'm talking about not doing something. Wait, that makes no sense either. Where's a good grammar coach when I need one?

There are many reasons why I feel the need to censor myself here. All of those reasons have at their root, at their very beginnings, the same mistakes. I made mistakes here when I first started doing this. I made this my blog. I used my real name. I let people know about it.

And now they read the fucking thing. What could I have been thinking?

Joe Blow and Jane Doe in, say, San Diego don't know or care about the people behind the nicknames I use here. MixedSignalGirl is a love interest in a story to them. LaptopGirl is another, more mysterious, character. WomanRepellant is, to most of my readers, no different than Norm on Cheers. SassyGirl was a minor character who's contract ended and wasn't renewed. I could go on and on.

To Joe Blow and Jane Doe, none of those people are real at all. Hell, I'm barely real to them. I'm just the protagonist in this rambling story.

But guess what. All of those people are real. To me, and to themselves. Sometimes to each other.

And so I censor myself. Because some of the people reading are, get this - the same people I'm writing about.

The person who advised me to not censor myself?

BadPickleGirl.

There, see? I've already said too much. People will read that and know that I talked to her today. What if that gets her into trouble? It's none of the world's business that I talked to her today, but there it is anyway.

It's also none of the world's business that I kinda like BadPickleGirl but, now that information is available for everyone to read and know.

For her to read and know.

Oops.

I censor myself because it's the right thing to do.

I should, if anything, do a better job of it.

Maybe tomorrow I'll start working on it.