The other night, Saturday in fact...

First, HotEuchreGirl came in with her friend who's name I can never remember.

I said hello them, and HotEuchreGirl asked how LaptopGirl was doing.

"I have no idea," I answered. Partly because I had no idea, and partly because it was none of her business, but mostly because LaptopGirl gets mad at me when I admit to any knowledge of her existence.

Then, HotEuchreGirl's friend (HEGF) asked, "But aren't you dating LaptopGirl?!?"

Sigh.

Oh yeah, HEGF also bummed a cigarette off me, and hinted that she was very grateful.

Shudder.

Anyway, then NotHideousGirl came in and I gave her a hug and she sat next to me at the island.

I felt either a tap on my shoulder or a hand groping me. I wasn't sure which, and I was a little afraid to investigate.

"So is that your girlfriend?" HEGF asked me, indicating NotHideousgirl.

Sigh.

Then, a while later, we were all sitting at the island. HEGF was sitting next to HatGirl, and I heard her ask HatGirl, "Are you and Dave dating?"

Sigh.

The funny part was that HatGirl answered with, "Actually, I'm married."

Which didn't quite answer HEGF's question, I noticed.

Sigh.

Anyway, WTF was the deal with HEGF prying so deeply into my (lack of) love life?

Shudder.

Also, HotEuchreGirl looked very cute.

Sigh.

I'm sure that every who knows me would shake their head in some assholish combination of pity and disappointment over what I did late Friday night.

But, Oh well.

How could I refuse?

Answer: I couldn't fucking refuse.

And it's okay. It really is. I feel better now, because I got an explanation of sorts, for the way I've been treated lately. One that I can actually believe, if you can believe that. I needed that explanation even more than I thought. I needed it more than I needed to breathe.

And it's also okay because I got to be useful again, albeit for just one night.

Not that kind of night, you perverts!

And all that stuff about getting to be a part of her life again, and getting to be a part of the kid's life again?

Well, I knew it was bullshit all along, as it was being said, and she would have known it too, had she been sober.

I don't pity myself over what I did, and I'm not disappointed in myself. And I'm neither disappointed nor surprised over how it turned out. And my opinion is the only one that really matters in this case, so the rest of you can go tsk tsk over someone else.

I have too much stuff. Way too much. And it's not like I can look around and ask where it all came from. I know where it all came from. Some of it I inherited from my dad, and some of it was already in my house when I bought it, but 99% of the stuff came from me.

My office is the worst. I don't even know where to start with that room. Books and papers and old computer parts are only the beginning. In the closet are boxes and boxes of random stuff. All over the floor are piles of more random stuff.

Other closets aren't much better. In the closet of my guest room are more computer parts, and a tent, and a sleeping back, and a dozen or so picture frames. My master bedroom closet is supposed to be a walk-in, but it's so crammed with luggage and clothes that it's more of a climb-in closet than a walk-in.

The walls of my attached garage are lined with various crap that I didn't feel like lugging into the house. The entire detached garage is crammed with tools and lawnmowers and boxes and el-cheapo plastic furniture.

And downstairs, the unfinished room in my basement - the official storage room I suppose - is full of even more stuff. Stuff that I've neither seen nor used in ten years. Plus a dozen or so vacuum cleaners. I seem to have a weird obsession with vacuum cleaners. Not with using them, just buying them.

There are things that I still haven't unpacked from when I moved in. I keep saying that I'll get around to it someday.

I have six televisions, at least as many DVD players. Four Tivos, and several million instances of random home theater components in varying states of functionality.

I have two fucking pool tables. Who does that?

Back in the early Summer, when it looked like I might have to sell my house and move away, the thing that I most dreaded was sorting through all that stuff. Deciding what to take with me, and what to put in storage, and what to sell, and what to give away, and what to throw away.

It was all so very daunting.

I'm glad that I didn't have to do it.

So.

One week. Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours.

How could I up and disappear like that? How could I be so insensitive? Don't I know that I have readers?

Yeah, well, my readers will just have to deal with it. It happened, and it's ongoing, despite any evidence this entry may present to the contrary.

Anyway.

It just wasn't working. Too many temptations. Too many reminders. Too many opportunities. For self-pity, and failure, and stupidity.

My life was broken.

So the first thing I did was send an email. One that was long-overdue.

After that, I stopped.

I stopped as much as I could. I stopped going to facebook, lest I be reminded. I stopped going to Rich O's for the same reason, and also so that I wouldn't be coerced. I stopped drinking, hoping that I wouldn't get into one of those moods. I stopped writing here, so I wouldn't be tempted to scream.

I stopped all of these things, and more, in an effort to...

I don't really know.

Not to forget, that's for sure. I'll never forget, no matter how badly I want to.

Not to get on with my life. There's no point to that. Humpty Dumpty cannot be reassembled.

Not to get over it. There's no way I'll ever get over it as long as I know that, the next time I see her face, or hear her voice, or even the next time I get an inane email or text message, it will all come rushing back.

I guess, if I have to give a reason, I guess I'm just tired.

This image illustrates that point. Click on it for a larger version. It makes me grin. Especially number three. Yes, I'm a child. Tee-hee.

Anyway, the other night I had a brilliant idea. I was sitting at Jack's with OddlyFamiliarGirl, as that has become something of a Sunday-night habit lately, and I found myself in a familiar dilemma.

See, OddlyFamiliarGirl is very smart, and very talkative. This is a brutal combination. Quite often, I find myself listening intently to what she's saying, but listening so intently that I'm constantly forgetting the things I want to say. Then, when OddlyFamiliarGirl pauses to take a breath, I'm left with nothing with which to fill the silence.

Hence, my brilliant idea.

Frustrated with my nonexistent short-term memory, I asked for a piece of paper and a pen. With those things, I was able to jot down little notes to myself, and those notes were enough to remind me of the things I wanted to add to our discussion when the opportunities arose.

And, this past Sunday, one of the things we discussed was the clitoris.

I think it was Jay, and not Silent Bob, who once asked, "The female clitoris?"

Yes, that's the one.

Then we talked about dreams and other random stuff. It's all in the notes.

I wish...

And then my mind just sort of trails off.

I don't know how to finish that thought. Not anymore. I don't know what I wish. What I want. I used to know exactly what I wanted.

I guess...

For this to end, one way or another, that would be nice. But how?

To stop being toyed with, to stop being tortured, those things would fantastic. But I don't really see those things ever happening. There may be some sick pleasure involved, some twisted motive that I could never understand.

Or maybe...

Just maybe there's still something good, and it will eventually make itself known.

Meanwhile...

I wait. For what, I have no idea. Not anymore.

Once or twice or a million times every week - it used to be much more often - I get the urge to say something. To initiate communication.

I don't do it, though, not anymore. I resist those urges, with whatever amount of effort is required at that particular time.

I have my reasons.

My feelings had become unwanted background noise to every word I said. Always inferred even when not consciously implied, even when explicitly dismissed.

I think that the thing I wanted to say, when I first had this thought earlier tonight, is that I haven't gone anywhere. But that wouldn't be quite true.

The truth is, I have moved.

But I've moved only as far as I've been pushed, and not one inch farther.

I'm still here, dammit.

Just one the other side of this damn line in the sand. Wishing that I knew what had happened. Wondering what would happen if I took a step forward.

Maybe I'll just repost old shit today. I feel like posting thing, but not like writing things. Because writing would be, like, hard and stuff. Plus, I've got some stuff I want to say that probably wouldn't be appreciated, so I'm keeping myself in-check.

Anyway, I'd forgotten that I'd even wrote this entry, back in 2006. It's a little negative, but that's how I rolled back then. Now, of course, I'm not like that at all. Now, I shit flowers.

Meanwhile, I'm tired.

---

Anyway, I've been sick for a few days. Nothing major as it turns out. Just a bit of a fever. I missed a couple of days of work, but that was mostly because I didn't want to infect everyone there. If I'd had the plague, as I'd originally feared, and I'd infected someone at work and they'd subsequently died - well I could kiss my annual performance bonus goodbye.

A while ago I was at SassyGirl's going away party, and at one point I found myself out on her deck with a bunch of kids. Teenagers mostly, though a couple of them might have been in their early 20s.

I found myself all alone with these kids because everyone else, everyone I knew and might have had at least one single solitary thing in common with, they had all taken off to pull some chick's car out of a ditch or something.

I don't remember what we were originally talking about. Probably something stupid. But at one point some of the kids started rambling on and on and on about their various thoughts about love. Such as they were.

Each time one of them would finish making a statement that they thought was profound, all of the kids would look at me. I guess because I was twice as old as any of them, they had subconsciously chosen me as some kind of spiritual leader. Their love coach, if you will.

I think I spent most of the time rolling my eyes.

Kids are so stupid.

Or maybe naive is a better word. Yes, I think it is.

Kids are so fucking naive.

With their fucking hopes and their dreams and their stupid ideals, it's really a wonder that they've managed to live for as long as they have. I mean, most of them seem to think that they can fly. It's truly miraculous that the ground isn't littered with broken bodies.*

I think back to when I was that age. No way was I that fucking stupid. By the time I'd graduated high school, life had already been feeding me shit sandwiches for years. By the time my marriage had ended, I'd learned to enjoy the damn things. By the time LaptopGirl moved away, I craved them like they were manna from Heaven.

But those kids, those kids on that deck that night, there was not a single one of them possessed of a single clue about what love is all about.

Like I said, I spent most of that time on that deck just rolling my eyes. But at one point I did speak up. At one point the drivel being vomited out of a young mouth was just too much to take. At one point I saw the opportunity to say something worthwhile. I took that opportunity. All eyes were upon me. I'd been drinking. One of the girls was hot so I wanted to seem especially wise.

There are very few truly evil people in the world, I said. And, chances are, none of us have ever met any of them, or dated them, or given our virginity to them. But we're still fooled into seeing evil where it doesn't exist. This is a defense mechanism, invented by our hearts and backed-up by our brains. By demonizing those who have hurt us, we further isolate ourselves from the cold harsh reality of life. The reality that we will be hurt, time and time again. By good people. By people who are just like us. When we slap an "evil" label on someone who's hurt us, we fool ourselves into believing that it was a rare event. An anomaly. That it won't happen again, or at least not with the same intensity.

It's still better than the alternative.

* - If you took those last two sentences literally, then you are an idiot and you should go kill yourself now before you pass on your idiot genes to the next generation. If you've already managed to find someone as stupid as you to procreate with then you should probably kill your offspring first.