Here's another dog-themed entry. Damn, this one was written in November 2004, about a month after I died.

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When I was a kid, maybe eight or nine years old, the neighbors across the street had this dog for a while.

The dog would bark constantly, and Mr. Hill would beat the dog. Then the dog would start yelping, and Mr. Hill would beat the dog some more.

I couldn't do anything about it (I was just a kid after all) but I do remember that somebody called the police one time and eventually somebody came and took the dog away.

One thing that's really vivid in my memory is that, even though Mr. Hill would beat the dog nearly every day, the dog would still get all excited and happy when Mr. Hill came home from work. He'd wag his tail so hard his whole body shook, and jump up against the truck door. He just couldn't wait for Mr. Hill to pay attention to him.

The dog had to know that he was going to be abused, but he didn't care. He still loved Mr. Hill and he seemed ever-hopeful that things would be different this time.

I remember hoping that the dog would fight back someday. Perhaps growl at Mr. Hill or maybe even bite him, but he never did.

That abuse was the only attention the dog ever got, and I supposed he had decided, in his little doggy mind, that if his purpose in life was to be a punching bag for Mr. Hill, then so be it. He'd be the bestest, most loyalest punching bag ever!

Even though I thought I understood what was going on in the dog's mind, I still thought it was pretty stupid. I knew I'd never let somebody abuse me like that. I knew I was smarter than a dog, after all!

Even if I can't fight back, I'm at least smart enough to run away.

Eventually.

So here's an entry from almost three years ago. I like to repost these old entries. For one thing, they help to squelch those who doubt me when I say how long this has been going on. For another thing, they keep me from having to write anything new.

Today I'm contemplating a last-minute trip. To where, I don't know. What I do know is that, if I had any brains, I'd go somewhere fast, and if I had any balls I'd stay put and not be so damn afraid.

Another thing I know is that, if I wasn't so fucking tempted to stay, then I wouldn't want to leave.

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My grandmother used to have this little Pekinese dog. She had several of them over the years, actually. I don't know what this one particular dog's name was. It might have been Raindrop. I know there was a Raindrop at some point during my childhood.

One thing about this dog was that it was ugly. But that should go without saying. All Pekinese dogs are ugly with their squashed faces and their stubby legs and their weird compact torsos. Selective breeding gone horribly awry.

Another thing about this one particular dog was that it was terrified of storms. But not petrified. Whatever the opposite of petrified would be. Maybe frantic with fear.

Whenever thunder would rumble, this dog would start running. My grandmother's house was a big circle. The dog would run from the kitchen to the laundry room to the bedroom to the foyer to the living room to the kitchen - on and on and on until the thunder stopped. That dog, with it ugly little tongue hanging out of its ugly face, that dog would run that circuit nonstop until the storm had passed.

Unless somebody messed up and opened the kitchen door.

When that happened, somebody - usually me - would have to go out into the storm and chase the stupid little thing down.

It was amazing how fast those stubby little legs could propel that dog.

This past weekend I went driving. A lot. And I thought about that dog and how it would run and run without ever getting anywhere. How it would run for the simple reason that it was too terrified to stay where it was.

I wondered if I was doing the same thing. And not just with the driving around. With all of my traveling, and with all of my life, I wondered if what I was really doing was running.

Maybe.

And if I am, then that begs the question of whether I'm running from something that I cannot escape, or running toward a destination that I cannot see.

How badly am I fooling myself?

Am I as stupid as that ugly little dog, running simply because it's the only thing I can do?

Here's what I wrote three years ago on this date. Back then, it was only the second anniversary of the day I stopped fighting. So today, it's the fifth.

The minutes take eternities to pass, but somehow the years rush by.

Two years have passed in the blink of a teary eye.

I never thought it would happen. I fought for so long, I convinced myself that I was winning. I faked a smile for so long, I convinced myself that I was happy. I fell for so long, I convinced myself that I was flying.

I never thought it would happen. I never thought it could happen.

But it did.

Splat!

My world still reverberates from the force of that impact.

I don't want to say any more.

I've already said too much, yet I could never never never say enough.

Those two words would lead to those three words would lead to a billion more words, and still it would not be enough.

I was right.

It was never enough.

The problem, or one of the problems, or the biggest problem, is that there are too many thoughts.

Oh, how I long for the days when a million thoughts would chase each other around inside my skull, like some bizarre merry-go-round, never ending. Never getting anywhere, but at least moving.

Now, not so much. Too many thoughts, competing against each other for attention and precious time, and my mind has ground to a halt.

I didn't really forget the anniversary. I only forgot the actual date of the thing. It's been on my mind for weeks, if not months. I really thought it was tomorrow. But it wasn't tomorrow, it was last Tuesday.

Oops.

I'd thought that I'd write about this. Maybe tell the story of that night. I dunno, maybe I still will. It's a good story, I think, even though the ending wasn't particularly happy. But I'm not going to write that story right now. Nope, right now, I'm going to make you people read two entries I wrote last year. Two days, and five days, after that night.

Maybe these two entries are enough. Maybe there's no need to tell the story.

everything

Well, I did it.

I said the most important words I've ever said, to the most wonderful person I've ever known.

I told her everything. Ev. Rey. Thing.

And now...

I just don't know.

I've got nothing left. I've done all I can do. I've said all I can say.

Maybe I've ruined everything. But if I did, at least it was with the truth. If those words turn out to be my final words to her*, then it's fitting that they were also the most important. The most real.

And the most overdue. Mustn't forget that.

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It's so tempting to stop now. Writing. Talking. Communicating in any way with anyone at all.

It all seems so trivial to me now.

Lesser purposes and all that...

* - They were not.

I remember how I felt when I wrote that. An incredible feeling of relief accompanied with an almost overwhelming feeling of dread. I hardly wrote anything else until Saturday night, when I once again scribbled into my notebook.

dilemma

Sitting at Rich O's, at night. Stupid, I know. I was going to sit over on the weirdo Sportstime side, but they were packed. Over here, at least I'm able to sit.

Anyway, I kinda feel like I should be writing something about some thoughts that have been rattling around in the dark places inside my head. Thoughts that will neither go away nor venture into the light. Because these thoughts have never been fully illuminated, I fear that this entry will probably be disjointed crap. This is in contrast to my usual drivel, which is at least somewhat jointed, and sometimes it's not even crap. You have been warned.

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The thing is, I only meant to make a statement. To finally get the entire truth out there. I'd say something like laying all my cards on the table, but this is no fucking game to me.

I realized that I was taking a very serious risk, but frankly, at the time, I didn't feel like I had much left to lose. I was rapidly dying anyway. So it was, at least partly, an act of desperation on my part, the statement that I made. I guess I wanted my dying words to mean something. More than that, I wanted them to be heard. And they were. They certainly were.

But all along, from the time I started considering it, through the time I was saying it, and even during the conversation that ensued, it was always a statement. Telling the truth, and nothing else.

It was never a question.

It was certainly never a request.

So why, I wonder, why do I wait so impatiently for an answer to a question I never asked?

Why, I wonder, do I long for a response to a request I never made?

This is my dilemma.

I could have asked the question, but the question wasn't the point. The statement was the point. Besides, deep down I knew that I wasn't ready for the pain that the answer might bring. I could have even made the request, but it would have been ludicrous to do so, without the answer to the question. I may be insane, but I'm not that insane.

The statement leads to the question leads to the request. That's just the way it works. And I stopped at the statement. I stopped myself, or she stopped me. I don't know. All I know is that I did stop, rather abruptly. Jarringly, you might say.

Which was fine with me. That had been my plan, such as it was, when I started. But I screwed up. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was distracted, after all.

See, I didn't need to ask the question, and I didn't need to make the request.

They were implied. Or inferred. Whatever.

And so, now I wait. For an answer to a question I never quite asked, and for a response to a request I never quite made.

This is my dilemma. This is my life.

And you know, that was my life for the next several months. And they were the most wonderful and the most horrible months of my life. And I still feel like I'm waiting, but no longer for an answer or for a response. Now, I'm waiting for a release, and that's something that I can only get from myself.

I'm not there yet, not to that point where I can turn my back on this. At best, I sometimes manage to feel oddly detached. At worst, I miss her so much I can't think of anything else and I'm lucky that breaths and heartbeats don't require conscious effort.

Most of the time I'm somewhere in the middle. Sad, but resigned.

I suppose that's normal.

Yet another facebook quiz. Last one for tonight, I promise.

Are you the type to hold a grudge or do you forgive easily?
Usually I'm quite forgiving, but there are certain grudges I've held for years.

Do you still think of your first love, and are they happy or sad thoughts?
I have a sad/happy cycle I go through.

Have you ever felt like you hated your children?
No. That's horrible!

If you could live anywhere you chose, where would it be? If you had to leave someone or something behind to move there, would you?
A: Las Vegas, I think. B: It would depend on what person or thing I'd have to leave.

Do you believe in reincarnation?
No, but it would be cool.

Have you ever been arrested?
Yes. Charges were later dropped.

Do you have any phobias?
I don't like spiders.

If you could kill someone and get away with it, would you?
I doubt it. I suppose it would depend on whether they deserved it or not. Few people would deserve it.

Would you give a perfect stranger a part of your body if they needed it to stay alive? ie..liver transplant..kidney..
Blood, yes. A body-part, no.

Would you take a trip to another planet?
Absolutely.

If you become unable to care for yourself when you get old, and euthansia was an option, would you choose it?
I doubt it. I'd hope that medical technology would eventually catch up to my ailment and I could be whole again.

Is there a person in your life that you can depend on for anything and everything at all, absolutely?
I'm going to say my sister, Dina. And she'll probably cry now. Gee, thanks, facebook quiz. You made my sister cry.

Another facebook quiz:

Do you believe that Harry Potter is evil? If so, why?
I believe that Harry Potter is fictional, and possibly gay, but not evil.

Which version of the Bible do you follow?
Whichever one is moving away from me while tied to a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter.

Do you believe things that people like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh say?
Very few people tell falsehoods all the time, so I believe just about everyone, every now and then.

Do you honor your mother and father as the Bible says to do?
I suppose that I did, but because they were my parents, not because some book told me to.

Is abortion ever acceptable?
There are circumstances in which I wouldn't be as against it as I normally am. Cases of rape and incest come to mind, as do those times when the mother's life is in danger.

Do you believe a person can be a Christian if they do not go to church?
Yes. I'm probably wrong, though. Maybe I mean that a person can be a good person whether they go to church or not. Yeah, that's what I meant.

Should religion be allowed in schools?
If it's non-disruptive and optional.

Should immigrants to the USA be required to serve our country in a civil service sense before being allowed citizenship?
No, I'm pretty sure that slavery and indentured servitude were both terrible ideas.

Should all parents be forced to work if they are physically able to do so, rather than receive public assistance?
Physically and mentally, they should work, but "forced" to work? I don't like the sound of that.

I took this on facebook tonight:

What does your God/Goddess look like in your head?
Like Santa Claus, but thinner and with better fashion sense.

Are you more messy or more compulsive?
I'm compulsively messy.

What is the happiest day of your life?
There was a night last December that was very nice.

Have you ever had an Out of Body Experience? was it cool?
I don't think I've had one of those. I bet it would be cool, though.

If you could visit with someone who has passed on, who would it be.
My father.

What one thing are you most grateful?
I don't want to say, lest I be called weird.

What disease are you most afraid of?
Anything that might kill me painfully.

Admit it, do you watch soaps or reality tv?
I watch some reality TV.

What is your most beloved piece of music?
I couldn't care less.

If you were filthy rich, which charity would be your choice to help out?
I'd let HatGirl pick for me.

Fav. nurture food.
Maybe a cheeseburger and fries from Polly's Freeze.

If you could go back in time for a day, where and when would you go?
There are lots of good choices. It would be cool to see the Big Bang.

Who is the most interesting person you know?
HatGirl. She is an enigma inside a conundrum inside a mystery.

how many hours of sleep do you need to feel optimal?
Six or so.

Which of your friends crack you up. ?
SneakyGirl is the only person I know who's funnier than I am.

If you could be anyone else for one day, who would it be and why?
Hmmm, I'm not sure it would matter, as long as I was someone besides myself.

Fav. over the counter drug
Sudafed, lately.

fav. thing to collect.?
I guess coasters, because that's the closest I come to collecting anything.