My Internet connection has been up and down for most of the day. I'll probably type this shit up and then not be able to publish it. Supposedly the guy is coming here tomorrow to diagnose and hopefully fix whatever the problem is.

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I have absolutely nothing to write about and, even if I did, it wouldn't be any good.

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I keep dreaming about Las Vegas. Probably because this is the longest I've gone without visiting there in several years. I need to get out there.

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I seem to have developed this severe aversion to couples. I don't really think about it, but I'm miserable around them. I suppose this is my subconscious giving me a hard time about being alone.

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The DaveFest thing is exhausting. What I'd like to do, one of these nights, is just sit at the island or at the bar and do nothing except glare at people. But I can't, because I'm the star of the show or something.

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Yesterday I bought a bag of pistachios, then I ate the whole bag in about three hours. Pistachios must have the highest ratio of ugliness to deliciousness of any food out there. Plus, they're a pain to eat.

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I guess that's about it.

I fear that this will be too cryptic for some, and not nearly cryptic enough for others.

I apologize to both groups. This is just what I was thinking about, and I need to write it before I lose it in the blizzard of drivel that has swarmed in my head lately.

Almost five years ago, I watched people jump. A lot of us watched. Hell, most of the world watched, either as it happened, or through replay after replay after replay after replay.

One scene in particular sticks in my head. A man and a woman who jumped as one. Their hands clasped tightly together as they leaped from one certain fate into another.

I wonder, did they know each other, before that morning? Did they work together? Did they ever see each other in the hallways, or in the elevators? Or did they meet at that last possible moment, when the horrors around them led them both to that same conclusion? Did each of them reach out, at that terrible moment when death loomed behind and waited below them, did each of them reach out for one last touch from another human being, for one final bit of proof that no matter how terrible life can be, we don't have to go through it alone? Did they reach out then, and find each other, and gain comfort from each other's presence?

We're all faced with similar choices all the time. Will we let our troubles burn away at us until there's nothing left but ash? Will we become paralyzed with fear of the unknown? Or will we take that leap into the void? Will we take back our lives?

I like to think that I know what I'd have done. I like to think that I'd have jumped.

But this last time, this last time the courage eluded me. And, while I stood trembling on the ledge, she went ahead and jumped without me.

Good for her. She took back her life.

This entry deserved better than I could give it.

How is it, I wonder, that I can eat six White Castle cheeseburgers and two orders of fries right before I go to sleep, then wake up six hours later and be starving to death?

I can't eat now though. I've got to connect in to work and get some shit done.

Maybe after that's done I'll go grab some breakfast.

I didn't say this would be an interesting entry.

Took the lazy road in preparing this entry. I took notes.

7:20
Gave PhotoDude his DaveFest shirt. He wants me to sign something on it. I'm thinking about signing, "Here's your fucking shirt."

7:25
Assholes in the living room, strangers at the island. I'm having a Newcastle (2140) at the kiddie table.

7:30
This one chick from work wants me to go sit in the loser area with them. No thanks.

7:34
Assholes left. I'm moving to the throne.

7:42
Some people are incapable of shutting the fuck up.

7:44
I just had the glorious realization that the two women that I care most about in the world - the last words that each of them said to me were lies.

8:10
I've been talking to PhotoDude and his wife, but now some hot girls have arrived. I might not be writing much for a while.

8:12
I order a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1061).

8:20
This one chick, she reminds me of a girl I used to lust after before I even knew what lust was. What I'm saying is that the lust I have for this girl has deep roots.

8:27
I know her name now. Same as a month. Not September.

8:34
That fucking fuckhead just came in. He better not acknowledge my presence.

8:46
Piss time.

8:50
She's 24. My imagination cannot accept that much of an age difference.

8:55
Wait, now she's 30. That's better, but she seems to be aging very quickly.

9:04
She grew up very close to where I lived in Lanesville. Small world.

9:22
Her friend is quite hot too, but married.

9:40
Another Weihenstephaner (1081).

10:20
Hot girls just left. Probably to masturbate while thinking about me.

10:30
I'm outta here. White Castle sounds good.

Boy, talk about going through the motions.

This is the third time I've sat down to write this entry. It's so boring that I keep slipping into a coma, and then I have to start over after I regain consciousness.

I'm thinking that I should probably just give up on writing things from scratch, that I should probably just carry my notebook around with me all the time. It's the lazy way to write, sure, but maybe lazy isn't such a bad thing.

So I got to Rich O's early, a little after 7:00. The living room area was full of strangers drinking Red Stripe. I guess they don't realize that (a) You can get that stuff in liquor stores, and (b) It sucks.

At the island, we had a couple of old people celebrating their 800th wedding anniversary or something. It was gross and sweet at the same time. It was greet.

I sat in the red room and talked to MusicalHippyDude, GlassesGirl, and PhotoDude for a few minutes. My first beer was a Newcastle (2120).

At 7:30 the old people realized that it was waaaaaaaaaaaay past their bedtime so they left, and I jumped up to the island so I could glare at The Red Stripe Bunch more easily. My second beer was a Domaine DuPage (290).

SassyGirl and JauntyGirl came in and joined me. JauntyGirl was wearing a shirt with a start button on the front. I guess there's some band called The Start or some such, and it's one of her favorite bands. Anyway, I had an almost irresistible urge to press that start button. That damn button taunted me all night.

Once The Red Stripe Bunch finally left we moved over to the living room area, and then after a while DooRagGirl came in, followed closely by my sister Neisha and her husband Chris.

My third beer was a Mestreechs Aajt (110).

Not much happened after that. I think everyone was bored. I know that I was.

My last beer was a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1041).

I sold a couple of DaveFest shirts, and just about everybody put theirs on right away. Not SassyGirl though. She didn't like the new shirt smell.

Oh yeah, the Rogue beers didn't make it yet. That will probably make HatGirl happy since it means that she'll get a chance to try the Rogue Chocolate Stout, but it was disappointing to me.

I feel another coma coming on, so I'm going to stop now.

Fine.

I've waited long enough.

My voicemails and emails have sat unanswered for almost two weeks. I said that I would not try again, and I haven't. The ball's in your court, but you're not there to pick it up.

Fine. I'll play by myself for a while. Maybe even play with myself for a while.

Ha ha ha.

I think the thing that shocked me the most about the way you left is that, at first, it seemed that you must not have a very high opinion of me as a person. For what you asked me to do was something that only a complete asshole would do. Surely, I thought, surely you knew me better than that.

But the more I've thought about it, the more I've come to realize that it's not my character that you've misjudged - it's my intelligence.

You think I'm fucking stupid, don't you?

Well, I'm not.

Sure, it took me a few days, but I did figure it out.

You asked me to prove my feelings for you, but the proof that you demanded was impossible. And you knew it.

Why would you do that? Why would you issue an ultimatum that could never be satisfied?

It's simple, really.

You asked me for the impossible because you knew that my refusal would give you an excuse. An excuse to walk away. An excuse to keep the blame for our failures on me. An excuse behind which you could hide your own fears and insecurities.

It was a good plan. If you're twelve years old.

I'd take a bullet for you, but I will not shoot an innocent person. You knew that all along.

Look, I know all about fear and insecurity. I've pretty much mastered them both over the past couple of years. So I understand the things that race through your head. You waited for so long for me to say those words to you. You were surprised. You were skeptical and you were afraid.

I don't blame you a bit for your concerns.

I just wish you'd have told me, instead of playing this stupid game. I thought we were better than stupid games.

I got this stupid premonition in my head last night, and slept fitfully because of it. Just one of those things that would be pretty cool if it happened, but it's so unlikely that I could never be disappointed if it doesn't happen.

That's the best kind of premonition, I think.

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I dreamed about a pretty good movie with C. Thomas Howell and Jennifer Aniston. The theme song of the movie was a country song, and in the dream it was one of the best songs ever. Now I'm sitting here at my desk with the song running through my head, and I realize that it's one of the stupidest songs ever. Still can't get the fucker out of my head though.

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I also dreamed about how I was working with some cops on some case or other, and there were pod people involved. They blew up part of a building to cover up the fact that MixedSignalGirl's mother had been replaced by a pod person. Then I had to put her cat in her car so I wouldn't have to carry it around while I searched the rubble for evidence. And later some bitch wouldn't let me back into the parking garage because I didn't have a pass. After I told her about Puddles being in the car she was nicer about it, but she still wouldn't let me in.

It was all very intense and dramatic. The whole thing had something to do with these transistors that had been used on a certain type of computer cabling back in the 1970s. The same transistors, it turned out, had also been used in these doohickeys that attached to soda cans to keep them cold.

Damn pod people. I hate them so much.

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I was hung-over all day yesterday, so I didn't do anything but work and watch TV.

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There's a chance that the Rogue Chocolate Stout and the Rogue Smoke will be on at DaveFest tonight. I'm afraid to ask though because it'll put me in a bad mood if they're not available yet.

Writing was effortless, when I was insane. I could sit here, late at night, relax just a little bit, and words would start flying onto the screen.

Writing was easy.

Living was the hard part. Breathing seemed like such a simple thing to do until I ran out of reasons to do it.