Okay, I'll admit it.

I'm getting pretty excited about this weekend.

Not only will I get to hang out with StupidGirl, I'll be able to get away from here for three days.

It changes a man, to see a beautiful face distorted by pain. To see it over and over and over and over and over. To stand helpless and watch the tears flow.

It changes a man, to feel so much and to give so much and to offer so much more, and to know that it's just not enough.

To drain away. To feel the very ground beneath your feet seem to dissolve as you struggle to remain upright. To feel betrayed and abandoned by the universe itself.

To hate yourself.

To look into the eyes of a child and find something you never thought you'd find again. To feel something you never thought you'd feel again.

To look into a mirror and see impending death, not from old age or disease or injury, but from heartache. To feel a dark hope that it will all end soon.

To fear sleep, for the nightmares that always accompany it. To fear wakefulness, for the reality that pounds away.

To watch a wonderful soul harden, and to feel your own soul harden with it. Not from pity or compassion or even love, but simply because your souls are irrevocably bound.

It changes a man.

I can't shake this feeling that we're expecting way too much from this. I talked to StupidGirl on the phone for three hours last night. It was, just like always, a friendly and funny conversation. An easy conversation. The hard part never comes until later, when my racing mind digests everything that was said and, more than that, everything that wasn't said.

I haven't been on a pedestal in a long time. Not since MixedSignalGirl. I'm not sure that I like it. Maybe I've developed a fear of heights. Maybe I don't feel like I'm worthy. Gee, I can't imagine why I might have a self-esteem issue.

Mostly, though, I think it's just that we still don't know each other very well. Not the way we should. We only know the best parts, the fun parts, the easy-going parts. I worry about what will happen if we're faced with the darker sides of each other's personalities.

I'm doing something very similar, I know. I'm pinning so much hope on this trip that there's no way I won't be disappointed. These feelings I'm suffering cannot be pushed aside for an entire weekend. Pushing them aside for even a few hours usually requires more strength than I possess. StupidGirl will surely do a fine job of distracting me, but it won't change who I am on the inside. The suffering I feel on the inside.

I can't let my guard down at all. I can't let her see who I really am.

I think we're both expecting that everything will be perfect. I think we're both going to be disappointed. I can only hope that we can rebound from that disappointment.

I just want to say something now.

I'm not retarded. I know that there's a 99.99999999999% chance that I'm wasting my time and that I'm going to die alone and unloved because of it.

But, what if that 0.00000000001% chance is the one that becomes reality?

It's my fucking life, and if I want to keep waiting, well then it's my fucking right to keep waiting.

It's totally worth the risk to me. That's the thing that nobody seems to understand.

How do you explain the inexplicable?

You don't.

You might try and try and try and try and try, but sometimes a thing cannot be explained. Sometimes not even to yourself.

So instead, you demonstrate it, at every possible opportunity, and you hope with all your heart that eventually it's understood before you die.

Although that can be kind of tough, because sometimes you died a long time ago, and you're just too fucking stubborn to admit it.

Sometimes, I really wish that I was stupid. Then maybe I wouldn't always be thinking about stuff, and things.

It's the things that are the worst.

I do manage to shut my brain down, every now and then, but not nearly often enough. I did it tuesday, and it was really nice. But then Wednesday I started thinking again, and in doing so I became retarded again.

Thinking about stuff and things keeps getting me into trouble. It's would be so nice to just tra-la-la through life, without a care in the world beyond what I'd next put into my mouth and where I'd next put my dick.

Like a caveman, or something. They never thought about stuff and things. They just went and fucking did whatever they wanted to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I can't. It's a bad idea, I think. It's inappropriate, I think.

And the only thing worse than thinking, is worrying about what other people think.