Well I don't think this one needs much in the way of interpretation at all.

The bus is old, like a Greyhound from the 1950s or something. I enter the door and climb up the steps. The bus is about half full. It's all of the people from the bar. I wonder where we're going, and I sit nine rows back, on the driver's side, next to the window.

The first thing I noticed when I went to Rich O's last night was that the new annex area was having some kind of party. Looked like a kid's birthday party or something. Very strange to see that many strangers at Rich O's.

The living room area was a study in contrast. On the loveseat sat MusicalHippeeDude, Nerdlinger, and ButterFace. The sofa and the chair held a bunch of strangers/assholes/idiots.

I sat at the island with WomanRepellant and OldBob's wife. I had a Spezial (800) to start the night.

The doors creak closed, and the bus shudders to a start. Everyone seems pretty excited that we're finally on our way. Conversations start up all around me, but I can't make out what they're saying.

I talked with WomanRepellant for a bit, but I was really just being polite. I was more interested in when the fuck the shitheads would leave the sofa so I could go talk to ButterFace.

CoffeeDude came in at about the same time that WomanRepellant left. He joined me at the island and we bullshitted for a while about nothing in particular.

The shitheads ordered another round of beers.

I still don't know where we're going, but wherever it is, we're taking all these backroads instead of the expressway. The bus leans crazily with every turn we take.

Next I ordered a Weihenstephaner (157). I guess they're on the last keg of this, so I wanted to have it one more time before it runs out.

One of the bartenders was in a shitty mood. That's pretty normal, but it's usually not this guy that's like that. I wondered what was bothering him while I waited 15 minutes for my beer to arrive. I guess it was probably all the strangers running around out front. I'd be in a bad mood too I suppose.

I look around the bus, and I don't see any of my friends. It's just a bunch of people that I recognize from the bar, but there's nobody I feel like talking to.

Nerdlinger and ButterFace pay their tab and leave. They both gave me little smiles and waved on their way out. They're good people I think. It's pretty rare to find a couple that comes into Rich O's and keeps coming back. I felt a little bad for them that they had to listen to the shitheads all night.

Oh, great. Now the shitheads finally decided to leave. MusicalHippeeDude was left alone in the living room area. Meanwhile, CoffeeDude and I had been joined by several PBDs, so I was feeling a little claustrophobic. I grabbed my shit and moved over to the sofa.

The bus pulls into the Rich O's parking lot. Some people get up and leave, but I can't leave because there are new people getting on that are in my way. The doors close and I settle back into my seat.

CoffeeDude and SpikeBoy moved over to the living room area and joined us. I was going to try this Rogue Saison, but I figured that it was probably too strong to drink after what I'd already had, so I decided on a Baltika 6 (236) instead.

So the four of us sat and drank our beers and rattled on about nonsense. We could have been any four guys sitting in any bar in the world. I wondered, for about the zillionth time, just what the Hell I was doing there. I left the sofa and went to stand at the bar while I finished my beer. Then I paid my tab and left.

I make my way to the front of the bus and ask the driver to take me home. He takes me to a ranch house in a subdivision. I try to tell him that I don't live there anymore, but he's not listening to me. He keeps looking at his watch, and tells me to either get off or stay on. He's got a schedule to keep.

I get off the bus, and I start walking home.

*wakes up*

*takes a piss*

"Wow, that was kind of fucked up."

*picks up keys*

*gets on with life*

Being the type of person that I am, I don't seem to be capable of having an idea and simply letting it solidify on its own.

Nope, once something begins to form in my head, I'll obsess over it until I have it properly defined and categorized. If I can't do that then I'll at least come up with a metaphor for it.

I've read that when Titanic was struck, a lot of the passengers gathered up on deck to see what had happened. Some of them reported hearing a noise, but they couldn't describe what the noise was. It turns out, or so I've read anyway, that they hadn't heard anything at all. The sound that they thought they'd heard was actually the silence that fell upon them when the engines were shut down.

They'd simply noticed that something was different, but they didn't know what.

And that, my dear readers, is probably as close as I'm going to get to what I've been feeling lately.

I've noticed a change in the noise level within me. Something LOUD, I think, has either gone silent or is at least running more quietly than it has in a long time.

What does it mean? I don't know, but I have my suspicions.

We'll see.

Damn. It's almost 11:00 and I've got nothing.

I'm supposed to write something here every day. If I don't then I get shit. I get accused of giving up. Of shutting down. My muse won't let me do either.

But what if, instead of giving up, instead of shutting down, I just run out of things to write? What if I just need to be rewound like a watch?

Hey, that's a good one. I'll use it.

I used to have this watch that was powered by arm movement. There was no battery. There was no little thingy on the side that you'd pull out to wind the watch. Instead, there was this pretty ingenious mechanism inside. An off-center flywheel that would spin around whenever you moved your arm, and that movement would wind up the spring.

I am so in need of a rewind.

I guess part of it is just that it's Thursday. Four days of nothing interesting happening. Four days without any movement to wind the spring inside me. I bet if I went back and checked, I'd find that Thursdays have been my weakest days for quite a while.

It wasn't always this way though. Last Fall, Thursdays would freak me the fuck out. I'd get nervous about the upcoming weekend and never find myself at a loss for words.

This isn't all because it's Thursday though. Something is definitely happening. I've been noticing it for a couple of weeks at least. I'm changing. I'm not sure how, or why, but something inside my head or my heart is...

I don't know. Searching for something maybe. Something that it's lost, or something that it never had? No, I think it's deeper than that. I feel like I'm searching for something to search for. Looking for a goal. For a guide. For a light at the end of some tunnel that I can at least get a sense of direction from.

That's not quite right either. Something is missing here.

I think it might be me.

Am I searching for what's left of myself? Is there anything left to find? Would I recognize it if I found it?

Would I run away?

UPDATE: Thinking about this some more, I don't think that searching is the right word. That would require (a)an actual desire, and (b)actual effort.

I think all I'm doing is wondering. Something is missing, and I'm wondering what it is.

I think I know how I'll end this.

I hope I'm right. I hope that all these random possibilities flying around me sort themselves out eventually, and let this little drama end in just the right way.

See, I know what I'm going to write, when it ends, if it ends the right way. The odds are pretty slim, but maybe I can help the odds a little. Because I've already got the ending written in my head.

What's that mumbo jumbo called? Oh yeah, affirmations.

You write something out, or think something through, several times a day and, abracadabra! It comes true. Something like that anyway.

I'm pretty excited actually. I want to write it now.

But I won't. It's not time yet. There have been too many false alarms already. I was going to say I'd cried wolf too many times already, but that's not right. What's it called when you cry out about good things that aren't really there?

KITTEN! KITTEN! KITTEN! KITTEN!

Plus, there's only about three people that would even get it right away. Maybe the rest of you would do a search through my 'blog or something. Figure out where I'd used that particular metaphor before, when I'd last used that particular phrase, and in what context.

I think it would be worth the effort though. I think people would smile once they understood.

And what if it doesn't end in just the right way for me to write what I want?

I'm not sure. I think that may mean that it never ends at all. In that case I won't have to write anything except more bullshit like this entry.

Bullshit I can write. Clever endings, not so much. It would suck indeed if I came up with such a clever ending and never got to use it.

Today I employ one of my standard methods for trying to beat mental constipation. Here's this week's horoscope from Free Will Astrology:

A Pisces woman I know has heard harassing voices in her head for years. They've often urged her to commit suicide or commit other heinous acts. Three weeks ago, they mysteriously stopped, and have left her alone ever since. Meanwhile, another Pisces friend recently received a letter from an old lover who unconditionally forgave her for hurting him while they were together. A third acquaintance, also born under the sign of the Fishes, had a lucid dream in which she buried the dress she was wearing during the saddest moment of her life. Subsequently she has felt an exhilarating release from the weight of the past. I see these three events as examples of a theme you too are enjoying: a burst of liberation from a demon that has plagued you for eons.

The part of this that jumped out at me was the part about the woman with the dream.

I was actually thinking about writing an entry about something similar before I read this horoscope. Strange, but true.

For over a decade at least, I've had this recurring dream wherein I visit some place where I used to live. Sometimes it's a house, sometimes it's an apartment, but it's still always the same place in my dream. I don't suppose that it matters where it is or what it is because, in real life, I never lived there.

So in my dreams I'd go to this old abode. A lot of my stuff would still be there, and I'd have an enjoyable time going through all of my forgotten possessions and just exploring the place for a while.

Sometimes I'd imagine moving back into that old place. After all, I'd think, so much of my past was already there. Waiting for me.

Like I said, I've had this theme pop up in my dreams for a long time. I never paid much attention to it except to notice that it was always a pretty good dream.

Last night, I dreamed of the old place again.

This time it was a house. A regular ranch-style house that sat in a subdivision among a bunch of identical ranch-style houses. I did the usual exploring. I remember marveling at the fact that I had three pool tables in the basement. I wandered around the house, touching everything. I dreamed that I took a nap in what had been my bedroom.

This is the point where this dream became different.

This is the point where the moving company arrived, and I helped the movers load all of my stuff into their truck.

Once the movers had left, the real estate agent was there, and she was putting a "For Sale" sign in the yard. She told me that the old place was a little run down, but that she expected it to sell rather quickly.

"A fixer-upper," she called it. "May I ask why you've decided to sell after all this time?" she asked.

"I guess I just realized that I was never really coming back here. Having two houses is nice, but you can only live in one of them," I replied.

I woke up shortly afterwards.

I've slept two hours since Monday morning. Just like old times, I say. Go fuck yourself, I respond.

Because my day has been spent in this half-dead daze, I really have nothing of interest to write.

I dealt with some bullshit earlier today the best way I know how - I completely ignored it except to vent about it here.

I guess the only thing that really happened to me today was that I managed to sneak in a dream this morning.

*** Warning! Boring dream description ahead! Proceed at your own risk! ***

I went to the grocery store and, as I was approaching the doors, I saw a sign announcing that Danny DeVito would be signing autographs. Sure enough, I could see Mr. DeVito already. He was inside the store, talking to a couple of women who were stuck outside. They ask him if they could PLEASE come in and get his autograph.

Danny DeVito looked the women up and down and told them, "No, not today. Maybe some other time." Then he disappeared into the store.

This just struck me as completely rude and unfair, so I vowed that I'd get Danny DeVito's autograph for these women.

The doors to the store were locked but, you may recall, doors and walls and windows mean nothing to me, so I just went right in.

Now, for some reason I knew, just knew, that the best chance I'd have of getting Danny Devito's autograph would be to find a box of Honey Nut Cheerios and have him sign the box. So I went looking for such a box.

This took a loooong time, but eventually I found the cereal aisle and scored a box of the stuff.

Next, I had to figure out where the autograph signing was taking place.

This also took a loooooooong time, but after exploring the entire store, I found Mr. DeVito sitting at a little table next to the smoking section.

As I approached him with my Honey Nut Cheerios box, my alarm went off and I woke up.

I'd just love it if one of you genius readers could interpret this fucker for me.

I am more observant than you think I am.

I am not as stupid as you think I am.

You are not as irresistible as you think you are.

I'm bored, and I'm lonely, and I'm wide awake.

Nothing good can come from this.

Sorry about that. Sorry especially to my sisters who, upon reading that title, will probably jam cooking utensils into their ears in hopes that they'll scramble that particular bit of imagery out of their brains.

So what if they also forget a couple of kids' birthdays, or what verbs are, or how to pee. So worth it.

I just always wanted to use picture me naked as an entry title. Shit, I did it again. Oopsie.

But seriously, folks.

I always wanted to say that too.

Looking up the word, I find several definitions, including the following:

na-ked
adj.
4. Being without concealment, disguise, or embellishment: the naked facts; naked ambition.
6. Exposed to harm; vulnerable: "naked to mine enemies" (Shakespeare)

Going from the above, I'm already naked here. In fact, some might even argue that I'm much more exposed via this journal than I'd ever be if I simply stopped wearing clothing in public. I'd find no fault in that argument.

I remember back in the 70s seeing news stories about people streaking. This type of behavior seems to be old hat these days, but back then it seemed like a really big deal. Especially to an impressionable, yet groovy, young boy.

I remember wondering just how in the Hell people could do that. Weren't they embarrassed? Weren't they afraid that someone would see them? Laugh at them?

I thought they all must be crazy. Running around with their pee pees and their boobies bouncing around. What if their grandmother saw them? *shudders*

Now it's thirty years later and, I'm not parading around au naturel, but I think that I must be at least as crazy as those hippies were back in the 70s. I'm showing you people parts of me that nobody, not even my ex-wife, has ever seen. I pose and bend and flex and twist myself around so that everybody gets a really good view.

And why do I do this? What do I want in return?

Simple. Let's all get naked together. Let's stop hiding the best, and worst, parts of ourselves. We are what we are, and we are who we are, and there should be no shame.

So this is me. No better and no worse. Like what you see? Good? Don't like what you see? Feel free to look away.

If you can.