After I got home Friday, I attempted to take a nap. That attempt, of course, failed. By then, I figured, I'd had about eight hours of sleep since the previous Saturday morning.

Yes, I was tired. Thanks for asking.

But I guess I must have hit some kind of wall, like long-distance runners always talk about. I reached a certain point of exhaustion, and not only did it not get any worse, it actually got a little better.

So I was dicking around on my computer, catching up on some of the reading that I'd let lapse during The Week Of Hell. I clicked over to the blog of MrPopular, and saw this entry.

For those of you who didn't feel like clicking, it has a mention about how this dude Mike was selling some bottled overstock and such. But even more interesting than what it says now it what it used to say.

It used to say that the items for sale included some bottles of Alaskan Smoked Porter.

It used to say that, and it doesn't anymore, because of me.

Now, I happened to be wearing pants when I read that Alaskan Smoked Porter was for sale. So the Rich O's crowd was spared the thrill disgust of seeing me run into the place as God might have intended. Not sure that a little public nudity would have made much of a difference, though, as I broke every traffic law known to man getting down there. I think that the trip that normally takes 15 minutes took about 15 seconds.

See, MrPopular has been sitting on these bottles (not literally sitting, I don't think) for a very long time. Every now and then I'd hear rumors about them, but rumors were all they were. Rich O's used to sell Alaskan Smoked Porter, but it's been years since that happened. I could, and did, have that lovely beer every time I went to Las Vegas, but even that luxury had been unavailable for over a year.

So I was excited. And I was also quite fearful that I'd be too late. That it would all be sold before I got there. That's why I broke all those traffic laws, and that's why it was probably a good thing that I was wearing pants when I read about the sale.

What ended up happening was that this server dude and I spent a few minutes looking for that Mike dude. Then, when we found him, I bought every bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter there was.

Fifteen bottles of ebony ambrosia.

It's out there in my beer fridge now. That crappy dirty old refrigerator. Never before has it served such a noble purpose.

Those beers call to me. I estimate that, if I limit my intake to special occasions, I can probably make those bottles last a year.

But tonight I'm going to have one. As soon as I post this entry I'm going to sit in my detached garage and I'm going to have one.

"What's the special occasion?" you might ask.

It's quite simple, really.

I have fucking Alaskan Smoked Porter, and if that's not special then I don't know what is.

UPDATE: Fucking yummy! The only thing that could have made this beer taste better would have been if I'd been sharing it with her.

I'm awake again.

I got about three hours of sleep, this time, before I awoke drowning in this flood of reality. Gasping for air that's forever out of reach, so that I might be able to scream for help that's forever out of range.

This is so hard. I'm so tired. Waiting for rescue that's never going to come.

Spending this morning looking for Las Vegas trips for tomorrow night.

Surprisingly, the cost wouldn't be that great. But I'm stuck when trying to find reasonable arrival and departure times for my flights.

Oh, well. It might be nice, but it's just plan C anyway. And I'm sure I'd end up feeling guilty for some bizarre reason.

You know what? It's just too much to write about. It's too fluid, and too real, and too uncertain.

My life is about to end, or it's about to begin.

I fear the former while I fervently hope for the latter. But it's out of my hands. All I can do is wait and see.

Five years, and it's coming down to this.

Will I live, or will I die again?

Last night I was able, thanks to some unseasonably warm weather, to sit out in my detached garage for a while. I'd found a bottle of Schlenkerla Marzen (6789) in my refrigerator and, what with yesterday having been what it was, I needed to drink it. So that's what I did. I sat on my el-cheapo white plastic furniture, drank my yummy beer, and contemplated the universe.

Much like when I went to the grocery store Monday night, I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat in my garage. It had certainly been a while. And, though the circumstances that led me to sit out there last night were pretty horrible, I suppose that I ended up enjoying it. Sometimes it's nice for me to simply enjoy my own company for a couple of hours.

I just sent RockGirl an email. She'd asked me when I slept.

Saturday night I didn't sleep a wink. I finally got to sleep at about 3:00 Monday morning and slept until 7:00. Monday night I think it was about 4:00 when I finally got to sleep. Yesterday after work I actually managed to take a two-hour nap, then I couldn't get to sleep again until at least 2:30.

This is a boring entry.

How do I handle this?

I don't know how, I only know that it needs to be handled.

I did everything I could do, and it wasn't enough. I tried my absolute hardest, and I failed. I was the best person I could be, and I didn't measure up. I went as far as I could go, and I fell short.

However I want to say it and however many times I say it, the sting doesn't lessen.

How do I handle this?

Same way, I suppose, that I've handled everything else.

I'll just muddle through.

I went to the grocery store tonight. I bought cat food and kitty litter. Weird, I was standing there in the checkout line, and it struck me that I had no idea how long it had been since I'd done something as simple as going to the store to buy groceries.

Weeks, at least. Maybe months.

For all of the recent past that I can recall, my personal shopping has been at convenience stores and gas stations. My meals have taken place at bars and restaurants or, more rarely, at someone's home.

Where has my life gone?

A few weeks ago, ActualGeorge cautioned me to not let my current situation take over my life. Well, what if it's too late? And, not only that, what if it's replaced my life?

Oh, well. It's not like my life was all that great to begin with. Maybe this new life will be better. I hope so.

Yeah, that's right, I said it. I have hope.

I bet none of you saw that coming.

Rome burns, and I stand helpless against the flames. I can do nothing to stop or even slow their progress. I could run away, but I do not. Instead, I stand my ground. I watch all of this beauty being consumed, and I try to commit every graceful line to memory, so that it will never be really lost. Not as long as I'm alive to remember.

But that is, of course, the problem.

I can not allow myself die in this blaze. Eventually, my skin blistering and my hair singeing, I will have no choice but to flee. So that I can stay alive, to remember and to mourn. So that somewhere in the world, this beauty will live on, even if it's only in my head.

Rome burns all around me. I can not allow myself to burn with it. No matter how much I want to stay here forever. No matter how much I want to die with it, my ashes intermingled.