I guess today kind of sucked. I don't think it was really a bad day, but compared to Thursday, it sucked. As would most days, compared to Thursday.

This chick who looks disconcertingly like MixedSignalGirl was working at The Pub, after having been fired for the last month or so. Plus, she insisted on talking to me the entire time I was there trying to enjoy my Newcastle (11280). So I was in a pretty shitty mood from about 12:00 on, then after work I had a couple of weird dreams. One was a sad dream, and another was very frustrating and confusing. So I woke up from my nap in a even worse mood than before.

For a while, there seemed to be a .0000000001% chance that my day might end really well, but instead I sat here at home, had a Rogue Chocolate Stout (2669) and a Barley Island Dirty Helen (436), glared at my phone, and wished for about the asstillionth time that things were different.

Also, it turns out that I don't need to feed HatGirl's critters on Sunday, as had been planned. That's the good news, I think. The bad news, I think, is that I need to go to the airport at 11:50 Saturday night to pick her and LuckyFucker up.

It will be really nice to see HatGirl again, but my grand plans for drinking beer and glaring my phone tomorrow night are shot to shit.

I had a really good day today.

Now, this little voice in my head tells me that I'm not supposed to be saying that, but fuck it. I keep censoring myself and censoring myself and censoring myself, and then every now and then I'll have a really crappy day. And, when that happens, I sometimes let my mood slip into this blog.

Well, today, I had a good day. And I'm in a very good mood. And I shouldn't be afraid to write about those facts. There are, after all, no more secrets between me and her, and I should stop acting like there are.

Look, this bullshit I use instead of a life isn't a very good one. I do still hate myself, after all. And most of the time, I feel like I'm drowning, and I'm not sure why I'm bothering to struggle.

But every now and then, like today, I find air. When that happens, I get to breathe for a while.

Times like this, times like today, I remember why I struggle. It's because of the joy that I am somehow, miraculously, still able to feel, when I breathe that sweet, sweet air.

I had a really good day today.

Just something I made the other day, when I was having a day like the third panel.

I'm not sure I should say anything about lunch. I guess I'll say that I had some yummy Thai chili linguini, and I sneaked a couple won-tons. Oh, and I had a Newcastle (11240).

Later in the afternoon I had a stupid meeting that ended up being not stupid, because I was the only person who showed up. So, that was nice.

I'd driven in to work on fumes, and so I had to stop and get gas on the way from work to HatGirl's house. I got $20 worth of gas, got back into my truck, and turned the key. Imagine my surprise when, as a result of my turning the key, absolutely nothing happened.

I was in a pretty bad part of Louisville, I think. So I was quite relieved and a little surprised when this one lady gave me a jump-start instead of murdering me for drug money.

At HatGirl's, I left my truck running while I fed the critters. Still haven't seen that damn kitty.

Then on the way to Rich O's I stopped and paid $150 for a new battery. For that price I assumed that my truck would be capable of flight, but nope, it's still ground-bound. Oh well.

At Rich O's, I had a couple glasses of yummy Rogue Chocolate Stout (2647). I was going to have just the one and then go home with my pizza, but NotHideousGirl and OddlyFamiliarGirl came in. And this time they didn't totally ignore me, so yay!

Once I got home, I took a nap. Then when I got up I nuked a couple hot dogs. Because I'm stupid and completely forgot about the pizza in my fridge.

And now I'm having a Three Floyds Gumballhead (263). I tried to sit out in my garage with my beer, but it's too freaking cold.

I never do this, post videos I discover on the web. But there's a first time for everything, I guess.

Listen to the words.

I'm not sure I understand this one.

I was driving on some surface streets, and traffic was a mess.

At one point I was turning right and this little girl, maybe about two years old, was walking across the street in front of me. So, of course, I stopped and let her go by. I also kept an eye on her, because what was a two-year-old doing walking around in the road?

Well this little girl crossed in front of me and then almost immediately walked behind my car. I was afraid that the car behind me would hit her, so I jumped out of my car and grabbed the little girl. I guess I figured I'd take her home and then try to figure out who she belonged to.

But then after I put the little girl in my car I realized that it was a little dog instead. A poodle, I think. All white, and about the size of a 10-pound turkey. Cute!

Luckily I woke up before any of my cats found out I'd brought a dog home.

Today was the fifth day in a row that I've gone to HatGirl's house to take care of her critters, but I still haven't seen the kitty even once. I do, however, know that the kitty is still alive because I set treats out each day and the next day they're gone.

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I get so sick and tired of people trivializing my problems and expecting me to act normal all the time. I do good to get out of bed in the mornings. Anything more than that is a bonus.

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Tonight I had a nice long talk with my dad's ghost. It took some doing, and a couple bottles of Three Floyd's Gumballhead (215), to conjure him up, but I eventually succeeded.

It was a really nice conversation.

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Every now and then I'll be driving - it's usually in Louisville - and I'll see some random young man walking down the sidewalk, using one hand to keep his super-loose pants from falling down.

I always wonder what kind of a terrible life that must be, the constant pressure that must involve.

Stretching an analogy almost to its breaking-point, I kinda do the same thing as those random young men.

Except that it's not modesty that I'm trying to preserve. Nope, it's my sanity.

I walk through life desperately clutching to pieces of myself that threaten to fall to the ground.

And shatter.

The shattering part is where the pants analogy breaks down. Because pants don't shatter, unless they haven't been washed in a zillion years, and that's an entirely different problem.

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You know what's really nice to hear from the love of your life?

"Well, I wouldn't say you were the worst person ever."

That's what's nice to hear. Hope springs eternal, and all that.

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Also, people who don't like the way I am should stop trying to guilt me into being something else. It won't work.

Empathy does not require understanding or agreement. Those are common misconceptions, but those things really are irrelevant to empathy.

Empathy can stand on its own and do just fine.

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For those keeping score at home, I still haven't renewed any of my vehicle registrations. They were already closed on Saturday when I got there. They were closed today, and they'll be closed tomorrow. So I get to drive around illegally until Tuesday.

Fun!

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That's it for now. I need to go out to my garage and glare at my phone for a while.

I think all I want to say about tonight is that I was held captive by two hot young women, and that I had fun.

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Oh shit! I totally forgot to renew any of my vehicle registrations. All three expired the 15th of September. I'll have to see about at least renewing the registration on my truck tomorrow, if I have time.

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I think what's happened is that I've crossed some kind of sleep-deprivation wall. Kind of like marathon runners will reach a certain point and then running is supposed to become effortless. Well I should be very tired right now, but I'm not at all.

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My brain is really rambling. You readers are lucky that so little of the rambling is making it to my fingers.

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I want to go to Antarctica, and I don't want to take myself with me. I don't know how to do that. Or, maybe, I want to go to Antarctica with myself, but then return without myself. I don't know how to do that either. Either way, though, I want to go to Antarctica.

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Another thing about tonight is that I had a Shiner Bock (17) and a Barley Island Barfly (56). Or maybe that's two other things about tonight.

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Sometimes a helping hand is exactly that, and nothing more. Sneering at it will only lessen the probability of it ever being offered again.

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If I had any sense at all, I'd do something. What, exactly, I don't know. Because I don't have any sense at all.

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I suppose I should go stare at my bedroom ceiling for a few hours. Goodnight, world.

I had the strangest dream this morning. I'd gone back to the old house in Lanesville, where I lived until I was six. I go by there once or twice a year, hoping to see somebody in the yard so I can ask for a tour on some pretense or another.

In this dream, I went there and my dad was out in the driveway working on a car. In fact, my entire family was there. They were all wondering where I'd been for all these years.

Very strange, but still nice to see everyone again. Except for my friend and neighbor Kelly, who was really pissed at me for disappearing like that.