I think that what I fear most, right now, is that she will come back into my life and she and I will become...

I don't even know if there's a word for it.

Unable or unwilling to discuss those things that lurk between us, joining us together yet still keeping us so separate. Unable or unwilling to be friends. Unable or unwilling to be enemies. Unable or unwilling to be anything at all beyond a silent sigh or a stolen glance or a flash of anger or a skipped heartbeat or a twinge of regret or a little bubble of hate or love that rises to the surface and then pops with an almost audible sound because it cannot exist in this artificial world.

And endless, countless moments of wondering.

Am I alone in this place, or does she inhabit it with me? If I search long enough, will I find her here?

My heart has become an old sponge, readily absorbing anything that gets too close, but unable to hold on.

I feel myself soak it all in, then I watch in dismay as it seeps away from me once again and spreads out in a widening stain of color across this gray plain.

I think I've been wrung out too many times.

10. I'll wait for you.

I never saw her again.

9. As soon as I'm ready, you'll be the first to know.

I was maybe the second to know, after her new boyfriend.

8. I miss you.

She missed my money.

7. You can trust me this time.

No, I couldn't.

6. You're imagining things.

No, I wasn't.

5. It was tough, but I'm doing fine now.

She killed herself.

4. But we're friends!

Whatever we were, it wasn't friends.

3. I think that we can make this work.

She was already plotting her escape.

2. I won't leave without giving you a chance to say goodbye, not again.

She did it again.

1. I do.

No, she didn't.

...if somebody would have tried to tell me two years ago, if somebody had tried to tell me then what was about to happen to me, what had actually already started to happen to me - I'd never had believed that either.

If fact, some people did try to tell me, and I dismissed them as romantic-minded pansies. In fact, I tried to tell myself, and I dismissed myself as an aging fart rapidly approaching another midlife crisis.

All of the disbelief in the world didn't change a single fucking thing back then. I see no reason to expect it to be any different in the future. Disbelief of the obvious and denial of the truth may slow the inevitable, but they will never stop it.

That's why it's called inevitable. They made up a word just for situations like this.

I'll know when I meet her. I just will. It may take some time to admit it to myself, but eventually I will accept it because there will be no other alternative.

And then, then once I've finally fucking accepted and embraced the truth, that same old question will be there waiting.

Am I too late?

I really like this upside-down sleep schedule I've been on lately during the work week

There's just something about being able to go to sleep when I'm tired - like when I first get home from work - that makes me feel like I have a little bit of power over my life.

Then, I can wake up at midnight or whenever, and watch my tivoed TV shows and read a little and maybe even write a little bit myself and I can do all of those things while I'm fairly alert and awake.

Or, if the mood strikes me, I can sleep all fucking night. It's my life, and my choice.

Of course nothing is perfect. I still have to flip my schedule back around in time for the weekends. That hasn't proved to be too tough so far though. All I need is the willpower to get off the damn couch no later than 8:00 on Thursday night.

Man, this was an exciting entry.

I'd like to think that there'll be no doubt, when I meet her.

I'd like to think that, but recent and not so recent events in my life have convinced me that this will most likely not be the case. There will be doubt, and there will be fear, and there will be insecurity and indecision and hesitance.

What there will be, most of all I think, is disbelief.

For when I meet her, whoever she might be, and I find myself thinking about her and longing for her and wanting her and not that other girl that, let's be honest, isn't much more than a memory to me now - How could I just blindly accept what was happening to me?

Is it really possible to blow your only chance at love and then discover that it wasn't really your only chance at all? That it was just another in a series, another rung in a ladder?

That it was all really just leading up to something new and better and maybe this time interconnecting and interlocking and interacting?

Requited love. Wouldn't that be something?

I guess I'll believe it when I see it.

I'm still waiting.

Tonight I watched the show Prison Break, which is back after a long Winter hiatus.

Although it's pretty clear from the title of the show that there will indeed be an escape at some point, the drama building up to the scheduled prisoner execution is still fairly gripping. If you like that sort of thing. Which I do.

I got to thinking, What if it was me?

I don't mean what if it was me that was about to be executed after being framed for murder. That would be pretty fucked up, to be sure, but I mean What if I knew that I only had a few hours left to live?

What the hell, what if I had a few weeks instead of a few hours?

What would I do? What would I say? How would I act?

The first thing I'd do would be quit my job. Hang out with my friends and my family. Not for too long though. Just long enough to ease a little bit of the guilt I'd feel for what came next.

I would start selling my possessions. I'd need the money to make my last few weeks enjoyable. Everything would be sold except my house, which would go to my sisters upon my death, and my pool cue, which I'd take with me on a little trip. I'd say goodbye to my home and my cats and my family and my parents' graves and I'd hit the road.

I'd go to Omaha, In hopes that my friend Mike could spare some time to knock some balls around for a while. Maybe I'd kick his ass like I did in the old days. Maybe I'd get him to start throwing chalk around. Good times.

There would be no other reason for me to go to Omaha, so I wouldn't stay for very long. That life ended a long time ago.

Then I'd drive North and West. I like to think that I'd stop in Montana. I owe a couple of people there a big apology. I like to think that I'd do that, but the truth is I don't have the slightest idea where to even start looking for them. I'd probably just end up wishing my best to the trees and the mountains I drove through.

Next, I'd go to Seattle, and I'd stay there until I had only a week left. I'd hang out at my old bar, and drink beer and shoot pool with my old friends. Gene and Holly would probably get sick of me hanging around them so much. That's too bad though, because they made the time when I lived there bearable. I'd need to make sure that they knew it.

With one week left, with one week left I'd hit the road again, and then I'd have a decision to make. And this would be a decision that I don't think can be made ahead of time. Some things are either supposed to be spur of the moment, or they're not supposed to happen at all.

So, I don't know how far I'd take it. I'd absolutely go there. I'd certainly find her. I'd definitely see her.

Would I approach her? Would I talk to her? What would I say?

Would I tell her?

Like I said, some things are meant to be spontaneous, or they're not meant to happen. I'd like to think that I'd be strong enough to keep my big fat mouth shut. To tell her would be pointless and selfish and cruel. So I'd like to think that I'd be able to summon some tiny vestige of willpower and not say a word. I'd definitely see her though. Try and stop me.

Finally, when my time was down to just a day or two, I'd get on a plane. To Alaska maybe. Or Hawaii. I've always wanted to go to Hawaii.

My last day I'd spend alone. Because it would be a fitting ending for a life that's been spent alone. Because I wouldn't want to see the grief my impending death was causing the people I love. Because, let's face it, I really don't like people that much anyway.

A wise man once wrote:

I've heard that some animals, in the last seconds of their life, will often summon every last bit of energy and strength they have and just run. Run to hide, somewhere safe. Run to heal, somewhere warm. Run to die, somewhere private.

I doubt that they'd ever find my body.