I've had lulls before. I don't know why this one is bothering me so much. I don't know why it's killing me that I can't hold a thought in my head long enough to even recognize it, let alone translate it into words.

I hate this. It's what I wanted, it's what I needed, it's what had to be done if I was going to survive, but I hate it. The fact that I had to kill a part of myself to get to this point, that makes me hate it even more.

This entry I've stolen from that other journal, where that part of me which I've murdered used to vent and ramble. This entry was dated September 13th, 2005. The beginning of the end. I liked this entry. I can almost remember what I felt when I wrote it.

Almost.

I had a pretty decent night tonight. One of those sweet sorrow nights that are only enjoyable in contrast. It won't last though. It never lasts.

While I'm sitting here typing this semi-random crap, my cellphone is sitting beside me, on this pullout extension doohickey. Every time a car passes outside a few stray photons from the headlights strike the phone and bounce up into my peripheral vision.

There went another car.

I should move the cursed phone. Or adjust the blinds. Or something. But I haven't done it yet, and I doubt that I will. Every time the light hits my eyes I get a brief spark of hope, quickly followed by a little pang of disappointment. It's like a two-second replay of the past year. Over and over. And over.

The phone's not flashing to indicate an incoming call. You're not calling.

See, this would be the perfect time. I'm not too sad. I'm not doing my anger experiment anymore. I just miss you. I think I could actually have a conversation. Get all this out in the open. Get some fucking closure maybe.

There went another car.

You're not going to call though. I asked you not to. Told you that you were hurting me. That wasn't quite right though. I've been hurting myself. You've just been the weapon of choice. I've been the one wielding it.

Man I'm in a strange mood.

There went another car.

Eventually, I'll have to leave it behind.

But not until I'm sure that it's really dead.

The difference between me and this entry is that, if you could figure out how to highlight me, there'd still be nothing there.

I am completely empty right now. I am a void.

I'm sure that everybody already knows this (kidding) but yesterday would have been Benjamin Franklin's 300th birthday.

To celebrate the occasion, because brewers and beer drinkers are always looking for any reason to celebrate, several breweries around the country unveiled a beer in the style that Ben himself might have brewed. There's more information here at Roger's 'blog.

When I went to Rich O's after work, the place was packed. Everybody wanted to try the new (old?) beer.

So did I.

So I did.

New Albanian Old Lightning Rod (10)

(draft) Dark and sweet. There was a slight bitterness to the finish that made me want to take another sip right away. The description says molasses, but I didn't get any of that. I got more of a fruity flavor that might have been plums or cherries. A very pleasant surprise was that it's not that strong (7% ABV). A very good beer that I will probably drink until it's gone.

Last night saw a bit of an historic happening for SassyGirl and I. When I'd first arrived at Rich O's, there was a hot girl there.

She ended up sitting out front and waiting for this Bill asshole.

When SassyGirl arrived, I asked her if the hot girl was still sitting out front. She said, "Yes, and she really is hot."

That, dear readers, was the first time in the two years that I've known SassyGirl when she's actually agreed with me about a girl's hotness. She usually doesn't like anyone that I find attractive.

I've always found this odd. Knowing me, and my own impossibly high standards, it always seemed to me that it should be the other way around. I mean, I should be the one dismissing her picks. But I don't. Usually if she thinks a girl is pretty then so do I.

Weird.

Not very interesting, perhaps, but weird.

I wonder what will happen, the next time I see her, look into her eyes.

I knew the answer to that question once, but I was wrong. A few months later, I knew the answer once again, but I was wrong again.

And now? Now I don't know what will happen.

Will I become lost again? Will I become terrified again? Will I die again?

What if I look into her eyes, and nothing happens?

I think that if nothing happens, then I will be sad.

It would be like waking up from a beautiful dream, and knowing that I may never see anything as beautiful as that dream again. It would be like waking up from a nightmare, and knowing that I may never again feel anything as strongly as I felt that fear.

It would be like waking up from death, and realizing that waking up was the easy past, and that I must now find something to live for. Something else.

Yes, I think that if nothing happens, then I will be sad.

Today, after work, I went and bought myself a new doorknob, then I went to meet SassyGirl at Rich O's.

Lately I only get to see SassyGirl once a week, on Mondays. I'd already decided that I wasn't going to be at the bar this evening for their Gay Night experiment, but stopping by immediately after work was certainly doable.

So we talked for a while about her new girlfriend and I had myself a Robert the Bruce (160).

Tonight I watched 24. I love this show. While I watched I had one of the beers that's been sitting in my fridge since before Christmas:

Winterkoninkske Winter King (11)

(bottle) Wow. I wasn't expecting a beer this special. The label says "Belgian Ale Brewed with Juniper Berries." There's not a whole lot that I can add to that description, but I owe it more. Flat-out yummy. I want more.

It's a conundrum, all right.

I don't really have much to post right now, but I don't want that last whiny entry to be the first thing people see, so I'll write about my wonderful morning.

On the way out of my driveway, I saw that the dog's body was still there. I suppose it'll stay there until tomorrow as whatever county agency is responsible for such things probably has the day off for the holiday.

I got about halfway to work - not quite to the river - and realized that I'd left my laptop at home. Shit! So I called and left a voicemail telling my boss that I'd be a little late, then I turned around and headed back up the hill.

You know that feeling you get when you think there's an extra step at the top of the stairs? Your foot just keeps going down, and you freak out for just an instant?

I went back into my house, petted the cats for a couple of seconds, grabbed my laptop case, closed the door leading to my garage, and

Shit!

I'd locked my keys inside my house. So I called and left another voicemail, this time telling my boss that I was going to be even later.

I've been locked out of my house before. One day last Summer I came home from Las Vegas and couldn't get into my house because my sister had locked that same door. At the time there was no key for that door, so I never ever locked it, but Dina didn't know that. On that day, I took a drill and drilled out the lock to gain entry. Then, of course, I went and bought a new doorknob set.

This morning, I once again went for the drill, but there was no chuck key and the bit wasn't set tightly enough. It kept getting stuck. I was getting a little pissed, and I looked around and saw the perfect tool for when I'm pissed.

A 15-pound sledge hammer.

It only took a few whacks to break the doorknob off. After that it was easy to get into the house. My cats may never recover though.

So today I get to go and buy another doorknob set from the hardware store.

This time I'm getting a half-dozen extra keys made.