I don't think I have anything to say. Today, absolutely nothing happened at all. Maybe tomorrow something will happen. Probably not though.

Today I was telling someone about this stupid childish game I've been known to play.

I'll call The Reverse Staring Contest.

The goal is to be the last one to look. To be the last one to care. The last one to acknowledge the other. If you can hold out the longest, then you win.

What do you win?

Not much. Maybe a little satisfaction. Maybe a little information - perhaps knowledge that the other person has less willpower than you do, or cares more than you do.

Maybe you learn those things, but maybe the other person doesn't even know the game is afoot. Maybe you're just being a jackass because it's your basic nature to be one.

I just finished a round of this game, a round in which I won. I'm pretty sure the other person didn't even know we were playing, but we play this game almost every day. I lose almost every day.

But not today. Today I kept my eyes averted until the other person looked my way.

I am the winner! Yay for me!

It's a dangerous game though. Sometimes the other person gets tired of it and goes to find someone else to play with. Someone that's not a jackass.

This entry brought to you by:

Rogue Imperial Stout (26)

(bottle) Hard to find anything wrong with this beer. If I had to pick something it would be the high ABV which limits the amount that can be consumed. A yummy chocolately flavor with a fairly intense alcohol burn. Quite good, and I will be buying more bottles which I will try to let age.

I can think of a million reasons why I've been putting it off, and I'll list them right now, one by one.

No, I'm kidding. I'd never do that to you.

Instead I'll just start typing and hope that the main reason reveals itself quickly before I die of boredom.

This entry will close out the period from October 9th, 2004, until middish/lateish September, 2005.

I will call this period The Wasted Year for reasons that are probably already evident to some of you, and which will become evident to the rest of you.

If you don't die of boredom yourselves before I finally get to the fucking point.

So, where was I?

Oh yes, I was dead. I died on October 9th of last year. I'd call my death a metaphor. Some may call it an exaggeration. Others may call it whiny crybaby drivel. But whatever you call it, it's all the same thing.

When I found out that she had left, I was devastated. Obliterated. I'd waited 39 years to meet someone that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, but I fought it and denied it and ignored it until that veeeeeeeery moment when I couldn't deny or fight or ignore it any longer. That very moment when I brilliantly figured out that I'll probably only meet the love of my life but once in my life so I should probably stop being so fucking scared and just take a fucking chance for once. So, I decided to take that chance, and I was too late. She was gone. And every last bit of anything and everything that she'd inadvertently reawakened inside me died.

(I have this yummy beer I'm drinking to thank for that last paragraph. I'll probably read it tomorrow and delete it.)

You know what really pisses me off about the past year?

There was a girl. A girl that was everything I ever wanted. In a companion. In a girlfriend. Maybe even in a wife. She was everything I ever wanted except for one thing. She wasn't the one I was in love with. I tried so hard, I tried for so long, to divert my attention toward her, but it seemed like the harder I tried the more resistance I met. And, and this is what really pisses me off, all of that resistance was coming from inside me. My own heart betrayed me on a daily basis. Every minute, every fucking second, my heart waged war against me.

I could spend the rest of my life telling MixedSignalGirl how sorry I am that I didn't love her. I probably will spend the rest of my life at least thinking about what a colossal failure I was when it came to her.

I was supposed to be her hero, and instead I was the dragon and the black knight all rolled up into one.

Almost an entire year. Wasted on a dream that I never wanted to have in the first place. Almost an entire year, searching for answers to the questions I was afraid to even ask. Almost an entire year, hurting someone that truly cared about me while I longed for something that was simply not meant to be. Almost an entire year, wasted.

I think I was supposed to make a point here. Why has it been so hard for me to write this entry? To close out this chapter of my life?

For a while, I thought that perhaps some hidden part of me was actually still clinging to hope.

Wrong.

For a while, I thought that perhaps some small part of me was still waiting for some answers. For some closure.

Wrong.

What's been holding me back from writing this entry, what's been holding me back from closing out that period of my life when all I did was mourn and hurt and miss and long, what's been holding me back is that...

...I died, and whatever it was that arose from death wasn't me anymore. It was something that only existed to feel pain. If I let the pain go away, there will be nothing left, and I'll have to once again start over.

So that's one reason. The other is...

...The last time I had to start over, it wasn't a choice. Oh, I thought it was a choice for a while. I thought I could control my own emotions and my own destiny and my own happiness. But I was either lying to myself or fooling myself. Probably both. There was no choice in the matter. At the moment that I first looked into her sparkling eyes, the number of paths available to my heart dwindled to one. I would love her.

But this time, this time it is a conscious decision on my part. The things that I've finally done and finally found to stop the flood of pain - I could switch them off in an instant.

It's ironic really. This 'blog is to blame for a lot of the problems I've had. If I'd been able to restrain my writings way back in the Summer of 2004, things might be a lot different for me now. The irony is that it's this 'blog that has enabled me to be sitting here writing this entry.

There's this one girl. A regular reader of mine. She is the one that pointed out to me that the pain was killing me all over again. She's the one that suggested that I had to try something different. Instead of trying to deal with the pain, she asked, why not try bottling it up?

And then there was this other girl. My kindred spirit. A series of coincidences led me to her, and she has given me what nobody else has been able to give. Understanding. Not judgment. Not argument. Not even pity. Simple understanding, from someone going through the same thing I'd been going through.

I don't know which girl deserves the most credit for curing me. I suppose they're equally responsible. On the Internet, everybody is secretive, but these two girls have shown me trust and understanding that I never could have found anywhere else - not even from my family and my closest friends. I've already said this, to each of them, many times, but I feel compelled to say it here:

To T and to N, what you have given me can never ever ever be repaid, but I vow to do the best that I can, for as long as it takes, to repay it anyway. You have helped me to get my life back, and I seriously didn't think it was possible.

Oh yeah, the choice thingy. This time, ending this era, this wasted year, this pain-filled period, this time it's a choice. And with this choice comes responsibility. What if I'm fooling myself once again? What if suppressing these emotions and getting understanding isn't enough? This hasn't been tested, after all. I will be tested again. Eventually.

I sit here right now, and I know that I'm not ready to be tested. How can I truly consider myself healed, how can I honestly feel like I'm ready to close out this past year, when I know that all of that pain is still there inside me, building up pressure, ready to explode the next time she walks into my life?

I dunno. It just feels like I should close it out, this past year. Even if I'm not ready to be tested, everything else has changed over the last few weeks. I was in pain every day. Every single fucking day, I missed her. And now I don't. Even if it doesn't last, even if this turns out to be yet another false sunrise, and even if the darkness returns, this is still the end of an era.

I wasted a year, missing her. But I no longer fear spending the rest of my life missing her. I know that I can feel better, because I feel better right now. If I, reborn into pain, can still manage to live for a few weeks without that pain, then anything is possible.

This leopard can change its spots.

This scorpion can change its wicked ways.

This once broken man can have a life worth living.

And now I've got to go out onto my deck and finish this beer, to complete my little stupid tradition.

On the way home tonight I stopped to see this girl I know. She has recently been diagnosed with a thyroid disorder, and apparently the medication is causing her to gain some weight.

So far, all that the weight gain has done is (a) Make her look human, and (b) Give her really nice tits.

First of all, before I get into my regularly scheduled Saturday beer report, I want to say that I'm a little bit irritated right now. I'm too nice of a person to single anyone out and state publicly why I'm irritated, but that should not be taken as any kind of acceptance or understanding of the transgression. This should not have been done, and I hope that it's not done again.

I will accept any apology that you wish to offer. Like I said, I'm a nice person. I'm just not a doormat.

Anyway, tonight seemed like about the gazillionth weekend night in a row that I didn't want to do anything. It also seemed like the gazillionth weekend night in a row that I went out anyway, despite my misgivings.

I think the thing is, I'm becoming quite fearful. I feel okay, but my mood hasn't really been tested, and I'm not certain that I'm ready for that test.

Man, I've just started this entry and I'm rambling already. This does not bode well.

Because I'm mainly afraid of Rich O's, tonight I went way out East to the BBC Brewpub. I was hoping that they'd have some of their smoked porter available, but they didn't. I ended up having one of the regular Dark Star porters (130) with my burger and fries.

After I finished eating and drinking my beer, I stopped by Buckhead's in Jeffersonville where I had a yummy Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier Dunkel (235). This is rapidly becoming one of my all-time favorites.

While sitting at Buckhead's, and getting frustrated because Coweena kept blocking my view of HotBlondeGirl, I had two realizations:

• There is perhaps nothing sadder in the world than a pitcher of Bud Light.


• I actually hate the Foster's and Corona drinkers more than I hate the BudMillerCoors drinkers. Bunch of fucking poseurs is what they are.

I had one of these:

Goose Island Hex Nut Brown Ale (20)

(draft) I know I've had this before, but it was a long time ago. I'm not sure if "roasty" is a word, but it should be because it would be the perfect word to describe this beer. Not bad, but not great.

So we talked for a while. They were killing time before they went to boogey down to some disco band at a nearby bar.

Once they left I talked with BamaCouple for a bit then came home.

All in all, I think I'd have been better off staying home tonight and drinking my Rogue Imperial Stout that I still haven't had any of.

For the past couple of years, the Fall has been the period when things change the most for me. I think I'd like it better if it was the Spring instead. It would seem a little more optimistic. But I suppose I understand that endings are much more obvious than beginnings, so in that way the Fall is appropriate.

I've written about my end of year tradition before, but for those of you too lazy and/or uninterested to go read this and this, what I basically do is set aside a brief period at the end of each year to reflect and remember and anticipate. This used to be something I did every New Year's Eve, but like I said, it's the Fall that's been seeing the most changes lately, so I've been forced to rethink the timing on my yearly tradition.

That first link points to the entry I wrote to close out the period from November 14, 2003 until October 9th, 2004.

I just read through that entry, and I didn't do a very good job with it. I was holding too much back. I was still actually hoping that things would work out for me, and I didn't want to mess anything up more than I already had. So I wimped out and didn't give the year the full recognition it deserved.

I'd like to correct that now, because another year has passed, and I don't feel like I can close it out until I properly close out the one before it.

On November 14, 2003, I fell.

I fell so slowly at first that I wasn't even aware of it, but from that first moment, my fall was inevitable because it had already begun.

I picked up speed as the months passed by, but for the longest time I refused to see the danger I was in. I actually enjoyed the feeling of free-fall. I was falling through clouds. I couldn't see the ground below me, so I didn't know how far away it was. I guess I just assumed that I'd land soon, and that I'd on my feet. I'd always done it before.

But this time, by the time I finally broke through the clouds, and saw the ground still so far below me, I knew the truth. I would not survive this fall. It was just too far. I was moving too quickly.

I fell for over ten months, and I hit the ground on September 24.

Every bone was shattered. I suffered in ways I'd never imagined before. I wished for my suffering to end, but some small part of me still wanted to live. Some small part of me clung to life, even clung to the pain because it was proof that I still lived.

After a while, the pain became so much a part of me that I dared to believe that I could live with it. I dared to believe that I could actually survive. I dared to open my eyes, and I dared to look around.

The real end didn't come until then, when I saw that there was nothing left to live for.

On November 14th, 2003, I fell. I fell for a long time. And on October 9th, 2004, I died.

I don't think tonight was quite as bad as I'd expected it to be. Not that it was a good night, but it didn't completely suck.

I started out in the red room with RealTrainGirl and GreenBeerDude and TrainGirl and WhatsHerName. I had myself a Stone Smoked Porter (134).

After a while, those people all left to go to this Mac's place that I don't like, so I stayed.

I spent some time sitting on the loveseat, and some time talking with BamaCouple at the island.

My second, and last, beer was something new for me:

Sierra Nevada Porter (12)

(bottle) I've never been a big fan of this brewery, and this beer did nothing to change that. A decent coffee flavored porter with the typical Sierra Nevada lagerish finish. It got better the more I drank, but it never quite reached the point of being good.

It was a pretty dull night, actually. I think the highlight was going to Walmart and buying some movies.

I'll probably think of some other stuff to write about tomorrow morning.