Taking today off work, which is always nice. Even better is that I'm having lunch with HatGirl.

Yay!

Just took my truck down to the garage and dropped it off. The clutch is fucked - the pedal just falls to the floor when pressed, and it only seems to disengage during the final 1/8 inch or so. I could blame my clutch problems on some stick-shift driving lessons I gave her in the truck a couple of months ago, but I won't. It was, after all, a couple of months ago. And she actually did a very good job except for once on a hill.

So now I'm down to just two vehicles for a while. I feel so poor.

It should be perfectly clear to anyone who knows me that I don't know what I'm doing here. Just trying to muddle through, like everyone else. Trying to make the best of out the situations presented to me. Especially this one situation which keeps trying to kill me.

It's weird for me to realize this, but this really is all new to me. I mean, I've lived with it for the longest time, and today I'm no closer to understanding it, no closer to knowing what to do, than I was when it started. It's very probable that I'll never understand it, never know what to do. And so, I muddle.

Muddle, muddle, muddle...

What a funny word.

I wish I could, for just a little while, know what was right. If I knew what was right, I'd do it. I really would. This is too fucking important to always be second-guessing myself.

Talked with StupidGirl for a couple of hours last night, until my Blackberry died. We put together some plans for next weekend. I told her that the only thing I absolutely want to do is go to the Freakin' Frog Friday night so I can have an Alaskan Smoked Porter for my birthday.

I'm really starting to look forward to the trip. I wish, in fact, that it was this weekend. This weekend is going to suck, I predict. Stupid Valentine's Day.

Speaking of my Blackberry, I forgot it this morning when I left for work. So I'm frustratingly out of touch with the world this morning. I'll go get my Blackberry during lunch.

Of course, I want to write something tonight. I'm actually in the mood to write, but I have no stupid power in my stupid house, so I'm typing this thing into my Blackberry. It works, but it's a hassle.

Both of my cats sensed my mood tonight, and both stayed close to me. Nugget stayed on my lap, and Buddy camped-out on the back of the couch, behind my head.

My fire, in its weird way, also kept me company. It's gone out now. I haven't decided whether I want to burn another log or not. That decision will go hand-in-hand with whether I want to have a third Marzen or not.

I was thinking about something I read once. Back in the olden days, before I was even born if you can believe that, they'd chop peoples' heads off. Criminals, mostly. But also, I like to think, people who were just assholes.

Anyway, I read once that some weird dude decided to conduct experiments with the recently beheaded. Right after the *thud* he'd pick up the head and look into the eyes. He was looking for some sign of consciousness, I guess.

Wait, maybe that's not quite appropriate.

There was a movie I once saw. This one dickhead pulled the heart out of some poor dude. He then showed the dude the heart, still beating in his hand. What a dickhead, right?

So the dude knew he was dead, and he also knew there wasn't fuck he could do about it.

Damn, this entry seemed like a much better idea before I started typing it.

I think it's time for another beer and another fire.

One of life's sad truths is that, far too often, one thing must end before another can begin.

In my case, I must die before I can live. I must.

---

My power is out tonight. It's out all over the place I guess.

I've been sitting in my living room, watching a fake log burn in my fireplace. I'm drinking a Schlenkerla Marzen. It's kinda nice.

Fires are always nice until their fuel starts to run out. Then they sputter frantically, flames licking wildly upward, as if by putting on a good show, they can buy themselves some more time.

But it does them no good. After a while, their fuel spent, the flames die. After a while, all that are left are ashes.

I have plenty of fake logs, and it's still fairly warm in my house.

I'll be okay, I think.

Just, wow.

And now, for my next trick, I will pretend that nothing happened.

Okay, so I'm going to be honest for a minute or two.

Not that I'm not always honest, or at least as honest as I can be in this public venue, but sometimes I hold things back.

Sometimes, we all hold things back. Because we live in a society and shit.

But not me, not right now. I'm not holding anything back.

Right now, I am fucking livid.

I'm no longer convincing myself that I'm angry, to keep the sadness at bay. Nope, right now, it's fucking real.

Livid.

Not because something happened.

Because nothing happened.

But, more than that, because I wanted so badly for something to happen, and it didn't. Hasn't. Whatever.

Fuck you, universe. Fuck you up the ass.

I think I'm not going to bring it up.

It was never my idea in the first place, it was hers. I just said that it was a brilliant idea. Now, maybe it's not so brilliant, but it's not like I've got anything better to do.

So I'll just go on the assumption that tentative has become undoable. It's the safest assumption, really.

I won't mention it unless she does.

And I don't think that she will.

But, if I'm wrong, well that would be cool. And the whole idea would go back to being brilliant.

So, back on December 14th, I wrote that I'd managed to score myself some bottles of yummy Alaskan Smoked Porter. I estimated that those fifteen bottles, with proper discipline, should last me for a year.

Well, tonight I'm drinking my last bottle.

Between my ever-loosening definition of "special occasion" and my totally understandable desire to share my favorite beer with my favorite person, I'm down to one bottle.

I'd been thinking that I should at least save it until my birthday, but now I'm going to Las Vegas for my birthday. And I'll probably be able to buy some Alaskan Smoked Porter there.

Plus, it's been one of the worst weeks I've ever had, so I fucking deserve to have this last bottle tonight.

My only regret is that my swing is gone. I'd love to be able to sit on my swing with this lovely beer. As it is, I'll just sit out in my garage like a sucker.

It's weird. I've been given an infinitesimal speck of hope, and now glaring at my phone has become infinitely more bearable.