The nice thing about this is that it's giving me something to think about, but the bad thing about this is that it's giving me something to think about.

Too many things, actually.

My mind is aswarm with thoughts, my heart is teeming with feelings, all with their own agendas. Some will merge for a brief time, join forces in fierce battle against their enemies, swear allegiance to false alliances, but all the while only truly working toward their own vision of an idealized conclusion.

Others are adversaries from the start. Like dogs and cats, like Arabs and Jews, they are born into this war which began long ago and which will continue long after these individual skirmishes and battles and betrayals have become nothing more than forgotten footnotes in a history book.

And the individual combatants, so full of resolve and so possessed of purpose, they will become nothing more than patches of ground where the flowers, nourished by the blood-soaked earth, grow vibrant and strong.

And me?

Well, I'm Mars, The God of War.

...here are some things that made me feel good today:

1. I got a bunch of anonymous messages and emails all containing wonderful words of encouragement.

2. A hot girl sent me a picture of herself in a bikini.

3. HatGirl is finally back from her vacation.

4. It was actually halfway warm outside.

Three times today, I went and pushed the elevator button, and three times the door opened immediately. That means that the elevator was already on my floor, right?

Then why was there somebody in the damn thing? How long had they been there? What were they doing in there?

This kind of shit bugs me.

My sanity is like a game of emotional Jenga right now. It could collapse at any moment.

I wrote that simile in an email today, and I immediately liked it. I'd like it a fuck of a lot more if it wasn't so true.

I figure that there are two people on Earth that know what I'm talking about right now. Then there are maybe one or two more that could guess. Those numbers will grow over the next few days and perhaps weeks until eventually most of the people in my life will know.

And then, once they know, they'll all turn to look at me. To watch me crumble into dust. Again.

Some of them will, I'm convinced, watch with genuine concern, with sympathy and empathy. Those are the people that truly care about me. They will feel pain because I will feel pain. And for that I am both eternally grateful and profoundly sorry.

The rest of you, the rest of you who will watch this happen to me with nothing but amusement and smugness and self-righteousness, don't let me catch you giggling and pointing in my direction. Don't let me see you rolling your eyes at me as you dismiss my pain with a wave of your hand. I will take you down with me. I will fucking tear you apart.

There is actually irony here. I've often used this scenario to describe how much worse things could get. I was living in the eighth circle of Hell, but I could always point to the ninth circle and say, "You know, maybe it isn't so bad here after all. Those poor souls really have it rough."

Well, I'm about to relocate.

Those words which I've used to describe what's the worst that could happen have suddenly and horribly been transformed from impossible nightmare into cold hard fact. I seem to be, so far, unable to accept it. I seem to be refusing to accept it and recognize it for what it is. I imagine that I will continue to refuse to accept it until this protective bubble bursts, until that camel's back breaks, until that last game piece is moved and everything collapses.

My sanity is like a game of emotional Jenga right now. It could collapse at any moment.

In yet another attempt to maintain some semblance of normalcy, I present this entry. Don't expect much though as I haven't slept since Saturday morning.

I got to Rich O's a little after 9:00. The place was packed. FutureDude told me that Friday had actually been fairly dead. Well that makes sense - I wasn't in there on Friday so nobody really saw any point in showing up.

So, like I said, the place was packed. There were some people that I know in the living room area, but I really didn't feel like squeezing myself in there, and I really didn't feel like having to entertain anyone, so I just stood at the end of the bar and had myself a BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (60).

After a short while, the strangers sitting at the end of the bar left so I sat there and basically didn't move for the next two hours except to piss and call SassyGirl to see if she was coming out after work.

My second beer was another of the bourbon thingies (80).

My third beer was a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (718).

I was enjoying a nice quiet evening, and nobody bothered me.

SassyGirl came in a little after 11:00 and we talked for a while. She told me the news that prompted my last entry. I came home at about 12:30 and stared at my ceiling until about 5:30, then I had to go to work.

I'm sitting in a protective bubble. It cannot be seen, and it cannot be felt, but it is there nevertheless. For proof of its presence one need only recognize one simple fact.

I am not crying.

I should be crying, but I'm not. I should be devastated, but I'm not. I should be so upset and heartbroken that even the reflexive tapping of my fingers against this keyboard should prove to be impossible for me.

But I'm not.

Where this bubble came from, I don't know. It certainly wasn't any of my doing. The last time I found myself in what I thought was a safe haven, what I perceived to be a secure harbor, the last time I thought I was protected from harm - well that turned out to be the biggest lie I'd ever told myself.

And when that bubble burst, when that bubble burst is the day that I died. And I vowed that, if I could somehow manage to bring myself back from the dead, that I'd never lie to myself again.

For now though, I'm still here. This bubble still somehow manages to protect me. Though the monsters of this new reality rage all around me I am somehow, miraculously, still here. Still safe.

I don't understand it.

I don't believe it.

I don't trust it.

This bubble will burst, and then the monsters will claw me to pieces, and I will die once again.

This will happen. It's only a matter of time.

Last night, I did not go to Rich O's. I did not, in fact, go to any bar at all.

Weird, huh?

That's what I thought.

What I did was I went to a surprise birthday party for my friend Eric. Though I'm not sure how much of a surprise it was, what with all of the cars in the driveway. Maybe seeing all of those cars was the surprise.

First things first, though. I went to the liquor store. I was planning to pick up a six-pack of Weihehstephaner, but they were out. So instead I bought a six-pack of Upland Chocolate Stout, then came back home and constructed my own little party pack consisting of two bottles of the Upland (286), two bottles of Winterkoninkske Winter King (136), and two bottles of Weihenstephaner (701) that I'd forgotten were in my fridge.

Thusly armed, I went to the house of this dude that graduated with Eric for the party.

It was a nice quiet affair. We talked. We played some euchre. My brother-in-law Chris and I won about 800 games in a row I think.

I actually managed to drink all of the beer I'd brought with me. And I didn't die.

That's simply amazing to me, mostly because that Winterkoninkske is some pretty strong stuff.

One other thing that was nice was that my phone kept ringing. People wanted to know where I was, why I wasn't at Rich O's, when I was coming to Rich O's, how they were supposed to keep on living if I wasn't at Rich O's. I assured them all that I'd be there on Saturday night.

What I didn't tell them was that I have to work Sunday morning so I may not stay for very long.

I suppose that I could accept certain things as normal, given the circumstances, but what fun would that be?

So, instead, I choose to be offended. Like this:

You stuck up bitch! You think you're so special? I got your "special" hanging right here!

Ha ha.

Just kidding.

I truly could not expend any less effort toward caring about your stoicism. Please get over yourself, and do it quickly before you truly become the person you are, right now, pretending to be.

Nobody likes that bitch very much.