I didn't watch the final show, but I tivoed it and planned to watch it tonight. Then they went and spoiled it for me on the radio this morning.

For those of you that don't have my 'blog memorized, I just wanted to point out that I wrote this on September 1st.

I got the ordering of the Suzie and Jordis eliminations switched, but otherwise I nailed it.

Yay me!

(response to another message from the same person)

OK but if LG wasnt(sic) there would you be with MSG?

To answer your question: I don't know. LG isn't really here anyway, only her ghost is, and it's been here for so damn long that I can hardly imagine what things would be like without it. I suppose that, if I got some closure, or if I grew up, or if somebody hit me in the face with a baseball bat enough times, there could be a time when I stopped being haunted.

So I don't know. Six months ago I'd have said no, there were too many other problems. Today I'm not so sure. There would certainly be obstacles, just as there have always been obstacles. I actually think that I'd be willing to try. She is a very sweet girl, and she actually cares about me, and she's hot, and she's smart, and she laughs at my jokes...

...and she's not LG.

And that's the problem with hypothetical questions. Reality always comes back and fucks things up.

(response to message)

Dont(sic) you find it funny that your(sic) putting MSG thru the exact same things that LG is putting you thru?

The situations are similar, but that's about it.

I was thinking I'd go over some of the differences between these two situations, but the first (and main) thing I need to say here is that nobody is putting anyone else through anything. Those of us that are hurting here, we are doing this to ourselves. To accuse me of putting someone else through something painful implies that I'm doing it intentionally. That's just not the case. I do everything I can to keep from hurting causing MSG any more pain. I believe that LG would prefer that I didn't hurt either. There's no malice here, in either situation.

(I may write something here that could be seen as disparaging. That is not my intention. I'm just stating the facts as I see them.)

I guess that most obvious difference would have to be the fact that MSG and I had an actual romantic relationship. We tried, more than once, to keep that spark going, but it just became too difficult. Her hang-ups, my baggage - it was just too much. Whatever, it makes a little bit of sense that she'd develop some feelings for me during that time. I am a pretty good guy after all.

LG and I, on the other hand, had nothing more than a friendship that turned out to be mostly one-sided. The fact that nobody at the bar believes that it never went beyond that doesn't make it any less true.

MSG and I have talked dozens (hundreds? thousands?) of times about what was going on between us. This type of open and honest communication has been, and continues to be, one of the cornerstones of what I hope will be a long friendship. I've been honest, at times brutally honest, with her at all times, and she has done the same with me.

LG and I have never talked about any of this at all. For this I mostly blame my own fears. Mostly.

MSG knows pretty much all there is to know about me. She knows me as well as anyone ever has. She knows my strengths and my weaknesses. She knows my hopes and my fears. Her heart has been able to make an informed decision about me and her feelings for me.

Everything that I think I know about LG is based on my emotions and feelings and my own sense of the potential in her. I have very little firsthand knowledge about what kind of person she really is.

MSG wanted to have feelings for someone.

I didn't.

MSG still wants to have these feelings.

I don't.

I'm wondering, why does it feel better to love than it feels to be loved?

Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Aren't we, at our deepest levels, pretty much governed by instinct?

One of my sister's professors once told her that humanity was free of instinct, that humanity always had a choice when it came to deciding how to behave, what to do, how to react to stimuli. That, as human beings, we were governed by what we had learned as we went through life. That, with us, it was all nurture and that nature had become irrelevant.

My sister's professor was an idiot.

We may often seem to be governed by thought and knowledge and reason and experience, but that's just the surface of who we really are. That's just what gets projected out to the rest of the world.

The real person lives inside of us. Our heart and our soul. And there's nothing there but emotion and instinct. That's who we really are.

You ever try to reason with your heart? It's not that it doesn't listen. It simply cannot understand what you're trying to tell it. Reason is the domain of the mind. The heart only understands emotion. Joy. Love. Sorrow. Shit like that.

The more basic the feeling is, the more powerful it is.

Every now and then I have a thought. Sometimes it's just something I ran across in the past, but since I can't really remember running across it before, I think that I came up with it all on my own. Today I wrote something in a PM that was such a thought. Someone had asked whether it was possible to choose whether to fall in love or not. I responded:

There's no choice. Sometimes you can fight it with everything you've got and you still fall. It's like gravity, only stronger.

But I ramble. Back to my original question.

Why do we continue to love, even when we're not loved back? Why do we stay in one-sided relationships? Even worse, why do we stay in abusive relationships?

Because we need to love someone more than we need to be loved by someone.

Don't ask me why this is. I have no idea. I just know that I've done all three.

Let's say that someone loves me. Let's also say that I love someone else. I have a choice to make, and I'm always going to make the same one. I'll hurt the one who loves me, and I'll be hurt by the one I love, and nothing will ever change, and everybody will be miserable forever.

This doesn't make any sense, but sense is the domain of the mind. The mind cannot understand the heart any more than the heart can understand the mind.

---

You know what, I'm really trying here. Trying to emote without emotion. Trying to feel without feelings. I'm trying, and I really don't appreciate my mind telling me how pointless this all is. Maybe pointlessness is the point I'm trying to make. Huh? You ever think of that, you asshole mind, you?

I'm going to stop now.

One of the side-effects of bottling everything up is that I'm able to think about things that, a few weeks ago, would have been, um, unthinkable.

Not unthinkable as in terrible or horrifying, but as in hey, I never thought of it that way before, or why didn't I think of that before?

I spent so much time obsessing over the why and the how and the what of my situation that I never really took the time to look at the who.

Who would of course be you know who, and also my lovely self.

Speaking of myself, I've never really been a what if kind of person when it comes to thinking about the past. I've never spent a lot of time replaying past mistakes, imagining what might have happened if I'd said or did something differently. I usually just try to play the cards I'm dealt.

Here's the thing about mistakes: You never recognize one until you've already made it. You might suspect it, but you're not sure until it's too late.

Now, I'm not saying I like the hands I've been given recently. Far from it actually, but I've been dealing with it by whining about it, not by imagining how much better it could have been if...

But I ramble. I do that a lot lately. I DO know where I'm going with this. Really.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah.

Because I'm bottling all of the painful stuff up, I've found that I'm able to think about things without all those pesky feelings getting in the way. I'm able to remember things that before had been overshadowed by more dramatic things.

Such as this thing here that I'm finally going to get to after babbling on for an eternity.

A couple of times last Summer, she was sad. I'm sure that there were more times than just those two, but those are the ones I remember because she was crying. The first time was because CoffeeDude decided to preach to her about the realities of life, and another time that was probably just girl stuff.

The first time she got up and left. I tried to follow her and apologize on behalf of men everywhere, but she would have none of that.

The second time I tried to make her feel better. I tried to say soothing words that would ease her pain and maybe even give her some hope for the future.

She yelled at me.

I'd said the wrong words I guess, and I didn't try any more.

A couple of months later, I could tell that something was bothering her. Her smiles had become fleeting. Her eyes had lost some of their sparkle. She'd get bored easily, and she'd leave. There was something wrong.

I did nothing.

I didn't ask her what was wrong, or even if anything was wrong, or if I could help. I let her be sad, and I didn't do a fucking thing about it.

Part of the reason was that I was pretty tied up with my own problems at the time. Fighting my developing feelings was taking a lot out of me. Another part of the reason was that I remembered what had happened the last time I'd tried to help. I'd only made things worse. Finally, as long as I'm striving for completeness here, there was a part of me that was already blaming myself for her sadness. After all, she knew at least a little of what I was going through. It was at least conceivable that she was bothered by it. But we'd never discussed it, and I always figured that she just didn't want to talk about that with me.

I'm not saying that what I did was right, but that's the way it was. I just tried to mind my own business. I guess I figured that we were friends, and if she wanted to talk about whatever it was, I'd be there for her. But I wasn't going to force myself on her.

I figured that she'd probably talk to me about it eventually.

Instead, she moved a million miles away.

Several thousand years ago, when I started writing this entry, I mentioned that I was never prone to going over past mistakes and wondering what if I'd handled things differently.

Well times change, and so do people sometimes.

Minding my own business was a mistake. Not trying to help was a mistake.

I fucking should have tried to help. It might not have done any good. Hell, it might have even made things worse. Maybe trying to help would have turned out to have been a mistake too. Maybe there was nothing that I could have done or said that would have made her feel better. Made her stay.

I should have tried, and I'm sorry that I didn't.

Why? Why would someone do this to me?

It's just so unfair!

Waaaaah!

*sobs uncontrollably*

Somebody erased what I'd written on the board at Rich O's and rewrote it!

*breathes into paper bag*

Okay, so maybe I forgot to write how many ounces it was. Maybe I wrote a little small. Maybe I got the price wrong. Maybe my writing looked left-handed (inside joke ha-ha Hi M!) but c'mon! What I'd written was a zillion times better than what had been there, which was absolutely fucking nothing.

*tries to slash wrists with keys*

If I hadn't noticed the Smithwick's tap behind the bar, and written on the board, the place might not have sold any Smithwick's all weekend.

How would you have liked that, Roger? Your precious Smithwick's just sitting in the keg, going all stale and shit.

Everyone I asked, of course, denied erasing my legacy from the board, but there was one guy that got so flustered that he spilled an entire thing of straws all over the floor! Clearly there was a guilty conscience at work.

I KNOW YOU DID IT!

But I still don't understand why.

Oh BartenderDude, why hast thou forsaken me?

They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. My revenge will be frigid. A veritable iceberg of revenge. You just wait.

*begins plotting revenge*

(If you don't know what all this gorilla shit is about, you're not reading enough. You could go here and get some background if you're bored enough.)

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually miss the wretched thing.

That battle of wills that Koko and I waged for months, even though all I ever seemed to do was complain about it, it at least gave me something to do. Something to think about and something to care about.

It turned out to be a much bigger part of who I was than I'd figured. A huge part in fact. I should have known that. Having a fucking gorilla for a manifestation instead of, say, a gerbil or a fuzzy bunny rabbit or some such - that should really have warned me. This was a BIG deal, and it would be a tough fight that I wasn't guaranteed to win. There was no way to know who would emerge victorious from the battle for my identity.

It was too fucking close.

I mean, I always knew that I was being referred to as that guy with the gorilla, but what I didn't realize was just how much of me was defined by its presence. It never quite took over completely, but it came awfully close at times, and each time we locked horns a little bit more of who I was transferred over to it.

Then one night a couple of months ago, it finally gave up and left. Problem is, it left in such a hurry that I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. It left in such a hurry that it forgot to give me back what it had taken from me.

I spent about a week being relieved about finally being alone again, then, when the relief faded, I saw just how little of me there was left.

I started to drift. And while my feet have managed to touch ground a couple of times, I've bounced quickly. Or maybe jumped. I don't know. Or care. And that's the root of the problem. I certainly used to care, about one thing mainly, but some of that spilled over to other things. I was almost like a real person. Caring about stuff and shit.

But I ramble.

And another thing. When you're accompanied everywhere by a gorilla, there's really no explanation necessary. Or possible. Some things just are and they'll resist all attempts to explain and excuse them. People, myself included, would see the gorilla and know immediately that to question its presence would be fruitless. It was just there.

Now it's not there and I no longer have an excuse for not seeking the answers to the questions that have plagued me. I no longer have a distraction that consumes me and keeps me busy fighting it while other, less powerful manifestations watch from the sidelines.

Koko is gone, and now I've got all these little fuckers entrenching themselves like maggots in my guts. Just making themselves at home. Each one represents a question that needs to be answered before all of this will be over. And I'll have to address each one of them on my own, when I find the time, because people see me without Koko and they assume that I'm back to normal. They try to *gasp* talk to me and shit. They cannot see what's happening inside me.

At least with the gorilla it was obvious to everyone that I was insane.

This entry is late because I had to work all day. It sucked, but it doesn't happen very often that I have to work on a Sunday, so I guess I'll live with it.

The entry is boring because all of the passion has either been sucked out of me or bottled up inside me. I'm not really sure which is the case, and it probably doesn't matter very much at the moment. The end-result is the same - a boring entry.

You have been warned. I suggest that, instead of bothering with this entry, you go read PassionateKisses instead. She's funny as fuck.

I feel like a visual is needed here.

Last night, when I got to Rich O's, I was sitting in the chair, which we all call the throne. NotGeorge was on my right, and WomanRepellant was on my left, and there were a couple of other guys that I don't know all that were sitting around as well.

I had myself a Delirium Tremens (357), and the group of us bullshitted about various fluff. I was already feeling a little bit claustrophobic because WomanRepellant was sitting just about as closely to me as he could while still maintaining some ass-sofa contact. I have no idea what that was all about.

Anyway.

To my immediate right is the kiddie table. This dude comes up and grabs a chair from the kiddie table and turns it towards our group so he can talk with us. Mainly he was just talking with WomanRepellant.

So I found myself stuck in the middle of a conversation between two people who were way into my personal comfort zone. I put up with this for about 10 seconds, but that was all I could stand. I grabbed my shit and went and sat at the end of the bar next to the idiots that had been there Wednesday.

I ordered one of these:

Upland Wheat (3)

(draft) Very fizzy. Too damn fizzy. There was too much citrus and it was a little sour tasting. I didn't care for it at all.

At one point WomanRepellant came up and stood at the bar. He'd apparently gotten sick of all the football talk that was going on, and he knew that football was the last thing I'd want to talk about. So we talked for a while about anything but football.

Next I had a Weihenstephaner Dunkel (140).

At one point I returned from taking a piss and my seat had been taken. So I grabbed my shit again and moved over to the other end of the bar since the idiots from Wednesday had left.

At about this time I noticed that there was a Smithwick's handle attached to one of the taps behind the bar. After confirming that they did indeed have Smithwick's on tap I found some chalk and went out and wrote it on the board.

So finally, I've been able to leave my mark in this world. I've always wondered what form it would take.

Once my Weihenstephaner was gone I ordered a Smithwick's (500).

I guess that's about it. I had a fairly enjoyable night, probably because I was irritated for having to pick up my shit and move not just once but twice. Irritated is close to being an actual feeling, and feelings have been hard to come by lately.

As long as I'm trying to break my own record for the most boring entry ever posted, I'll include a couple more pictures:

I'm so going to steal this Mad Bitch poster some night.

This was a picture I took of the taps at the BBC when I went there recently.

Finally, here's an awkward ending to a pointless entry.

Got a PM, after that last brief entry, asking me what was wrong.

What's wrong is that there's nothing wrong. I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing.

I'm out of the water, but I'm certainly not soaring. Just drifting along. Again. Caring about nothing. Again. Forcing myself to write something. Again.

Last night, a little after 6:00, MisunderstoodGirl called me and asked me to join her at the bar. I declined, saying that I needed to take a nap before I went out. I told the truth. I always take a nap after work on Fridays. But just because I always do something doesn't mean it's mandatory. I should have gone to see MisunderstoodGirl. She's been working these screwed up hours and I think I've only seen her a couple of times in the last six months. I should have said "fuck the nap" and just gone.

But I didn't, and I felt bad about that. Still do actually.

Once I finally got my lazy and selfish ass off the couch I headed out the door a little after 9:00. I stopped to see VigilanteGirl who, true to form, took the opportunity to bail on seeing the exorcism movie with me this weekend. Maybe next weekend I'm told. Once again, I'll believe it when I see it.

So I went to Rich O's. Nothing but guys there as usual. I ordered a Spezial but the keg blew while it was being poured. It ended up looking like coffee in my glass. It tasted okay, but it was creeping me out a little so I only drank half the glass (720).

Spezial was blown, Baltika was gone, the place was a sausage fest again. There was just nothing for me at Rich O's. I did what I should have done hours earlier. I called MisunderstoodGirl to see where she was, and went to see her.

It was this Mac's place that I don't care for very much, but at least they didn't have live music last night. Just karaoke, and I can stand that. MisunderstoodGirl and I sat at the bar and bullshitted and caught up for a while. I had a couple Newcastles (1664).

After a couple of hours MisunderstoodGirl was ready to leave so I had no reason to stay there either. I went back to Rich O's and had a Guinness (861). The place was winding down, but there was still no place to sit. I just stood at the bar for a while and wondered what I was doing there. MisunderstoodGirl actually came into Rich O's - I guess great minds think alike - but she was, being a girl, able to squeeze into a spot on the loveseat. I had to stand at the bar until some idiots left the sofa. Once they'd left I sat over there and talked with MisunderstoodGirl and DooRagGirl for a few minutes before they started closing the place up.

Came home and watched The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I was afraid this might happen.

I've got nothing for you people.

Maybe later.