I don't know where to start this entry.

At the beginning seems like the logical place, but it just doesn't read correctly in my head.

Oh well, I'm going to start at the beginning anyway.

I took the day off work today. One hour of sleep just wasn't going to cut it. I had some comp time coming to me from having to work all day Sunday. I'd planned to use that to have my birthday off, but there was no way I could have gone into work today, so I used my comp time a month early.

Anyway, I didn't do fuck all day long, really. I slept until 11:30 or so, then dicked around on the computer and downstairs on the pool table.

At 2:30 or so, SassyGirl invited me to meet her at Rich O's after work.

Little did she know, I wasn't even at work. Muhaha.

Since I had laundry going, I agreed to meet her at 4:00.

Once there, I had myself a half an Upland Winter Warmer (120). Why just the half-glass? Because I'd decided that I'd go ahead and buy myself some new glasses. So I'd called in to LensCrafters ahead of time to make sure that they had everything in stock, and I figured I'd go there and pick up my glasses after Rich O's.

Since LensCrafters has glasses in about an hour, I had an hour to kill between the time I got my pupils measured and the time I'd be able to pick up my new glasses. To kill that time, I invited SassyGirl to go to Red Lobster with me (it's right across the street from the mall) and she agreed.

Let's see, during dinner SassyGirl's phone rang, and she saw that it was TrainGirl, so she handed me the phone so I could answer. TrainGirl didn't recognize my voice, not that I can fault her for that.

Also, with my dinner, I had a glass of Blue Moon (210). I'd remembered to asked for an unchilled glass, but I forgot about the fruit garnish so they put a fucking orange wedge in the thing. I guess I got it out before it completely ruined the beer, because it tasted okay.

After we left Red Lobster we went back to get my glasses. Here they are:

And here are the old ones:

After that we went back to Rich O's.

While there, I had myself an NABC Old Lightning Rod (110), and later a half-glass of Guinness (1040). DooRagGirl came in and sat at the kiddie table and talked to me for a while. She kindof noticed my new glasses, but only because I'd taken them off and was waving them in her face.

Tonight didn't feel at all like a Tuesday night, but it was. I do have to work tomorrow, so I came home early.

...can fuck off and die.

If there's a slut in this story, it's me.

I'm the one that was with her even though I loved someone else. I'm the one that took full advantage of her feelings but offered none in return. I'm the one that presented myself to her in October, though I still loved someone else.

It doesn't matter that I did none of those things out of malice. It doesn't matter that we were always completely honest with each other, or that we were at times great together. It doesn't matter that I really did try to give her what she wanted. All that matters is that I failed, and that I hurt her so many times that she stopped feeling safe with me.

One last night, to culminate a long string of last nights. Was that too much to ask for?

I don't think so. I could have resisted, but I didn't. We were good together, after all.

I don't think it was too much to ask for at all. I think it was beautiful.

But, of course, I'm the slut in this story.

I guess I'll just come right out and say it.

She's going back to her ex-boyfriend. The one I call AssholeDave. The one she used to call AssholeDave.

I am, of course, a little sad. That one thing that I've never been able to say to her - he says it so often that it's lost all meaning. If it ever had any.

This feels like about the millionth time we've broken up, even though there was really just the one time almost a year ago.

This time it doesn't really feel real, so this time it probably is.

Some of them you want to protect. Some of them you want to hug, and smell their hair. Some of them you want to watch in awed silence while they sleep beside you. Some of them you want to kiss, ever so softly, and some of them more passionately. Some of them you want to hold their hand. Some of them you want to get lost in their eyes. Some of them you want to fuck. Some of them you want to lick.

Some of them, you want to do all those things.

Those are the best ones.

Why is a dog different from a cat?

Sure, both are furry, and both make good pets, and both will shit on your floor from time to time, but they really are completely different creatures.

So why is this time different from the last time?

Same reason. It's a completely different creature.

This time it's a crush. It's as simple as that.

(girl*smolder)+(guy*lonely+straight)=crush.

The last time, the last time it was something else. Something terrifying, something fascinating, something dangerous.

((girl+sparkles)^unknown)+((guy*clueless)^unknown)=unknown^2

Whatever it was, it most certainly was not a crush. And fuck anyone who tries to dismiss it as such. I was there. I lived through the fucking thing. I died through the fucking thing.

Lately, people talk to me, or they read what little I allow myself to post, and some of them start to think to themselves, Oh shit. Dave's going off his rocker again. Then they either try to talk some sense into me, or they sit back to enjoy the show that they're sure is about to start.

Either way, they're wasting their time. Because this is different. This is normal. This is nothing. Yet.

Fuck. I didn't mean to write the yet part.

Please disregard it.

Thanks.

I've got an idea for an entry.

Actually, I've got another idea.

The first idea was just wrong. It would have been too much. For you to read. For me to post. It was something I wrote in another journal. I'd thought about posting it here, but I changed my mind at the last minute.

That entry doesn't belong here. Even though I've recently stolen a couple of entries from that other journal and posted them here, publicly - this one I just couldn't do. That entry was not written for you, my readers. That entry was written for her.

Besides, I've picked at the bones of that journal enough. I need to let it rest in peace. Just because I murdered the person who wrote in that journal doesn't mean that I shouldn't still show some respect for the dead.

But anyway.

That sudden restraint left me with nothing for this journal. There I was, listed on the JS front page as a reader's pick, and my mind was blank. Blanker than usual, I should say.

Now though, now I've got an idea, for an interesting entry. Maybe even a good one. Wouldn't that be something?

So jodiechalese, a hot Australian girl who much to the dismay of men all over journalspace has apparently vanished, left me a very nice parting gift. She nominated me for the JS reader's pick thingy.

And there I am! Yay for me!

Once the initial shock and gratitude begins to wear off, however, I know that I'll be faced with a problem. A problem that will become painfully obvious to anyone venturing over to my journal because of this publicity.

I'm not very good.

At least not lately.

I'm sitting here, exposed like a fly on a plate, and I've got nothing. No drama. No pain. Not even any joy.

It's just me and my poemish things and my amateurish comics and my mundane entries about my mundane life.

It used to be better than this. I used to be better than this.

So there is some decent stuff in this journal. It's just a lot more difficult to find than it used to be.

Good luck.

This was expected.
I have been waiting for it,
Anticipating.
This is what I have yearned for.
Just a little distraction.