*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!

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.

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 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.

(I'm pretty sure that I've stolen the subject of this entry from somewhere, but I cannot be bothered to research it. Also, I'm not picking on anyone in particular here.)

I just don't see what the big deal is with all this Unconscious Mutterings crap that keeps cropping up everywhere.

That's right. I said it. I don't get it.

Is this supposed to be fun or something? Are you supposed to do it and learn something about yourself? Maybe you're supposed to post them in your 'blog and people will just understand you better.

I don't get the purpose of these things.

For those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, first of all you're lucky. Second of all, what you're supposed to do is this word-association thingy like they've had every shrink that's ever been on television or in the movies in history do at one point or another. For example, here's this week's list from the site. I'll read each word and then write the first thing that pops into my head:

1. Crave:: Beer
   
2. Whole package:: Cereal
   
3. Roommates:: Lesbians
   
4. 5:30:: 4:57
   
5. Lesbian:: Roommates
   
6. Poignant:: Sad
   
7. Hurtful:: Mean
   
8. You and I:: Unlikely
   
9. Grateful:: Whatever
   
10. Giggle:: Tickle
    

I don't get it.

There's one journal that I read frequently- the guy seems to have become obsessed with these things. All that I've learned from reading them is that he likes to do boring things and post them on the Internet.

Hell, I already knew that. We all do that or we wouldn't be here.

I dunno. Maybe I'm too stupid to understand the appeal of these things. Maybe I'm too smart. Maybe it's all just some big joke where the inventor of the things is getting a big kick out of the fact that people are actually doing this shit!

Hey! I've got an idea! I'll start a new sensation. I'll write a word and you send me money. The amount that you send will reveal hidden things about your personality. I promise! Right off the bat, for example, it will reveal two things:

• Whether or not you have too much money laying around.
• Whether or not you like to read random words.

The first word I'll use is *drumroll* perambulate.

Feel free to PM me for where to send your money.