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.

---

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.

A long time ago, before I was even born if you can believe that, I guess a bunch of people wore buttons saying "I like Ike."

You know, because of Eisenhower or however it's spelled.

Well, I think I'd like to introduce a new button. Mine will say "Ike can suck my hairy ass."

You know, because of the hurricane.

For those just tuning in, I live in Southern Indiana. Tornado country. Maybe earthquake country. But not fucking hurricane country.

Well, somebody must have missed a memo or something. That damn hurricane Ike refused to die after wreaking havoc down South where it belonged. Nope, it continued Northeasterly with its hurricane-force winds, and wreaked havoc upon the Louisville area too. Upon my area.

Everybody is affected. Some in worse ways than others. I, for example, have not had power since noon on Sunday (UPDATE: Power came back at 8:30 PM Tuesday). I lost some big-ass branches, and a couple of big trees either fell or split in half. There are millions of twigs and leaves littering my lawn, and some in my living room that are really perplexing me.

But all of that I can deal with. The thing I may not be able to deal with is this:

That, readers, is my swing. Or the pile of rubble formerly known as my swing. Fucking Ike took it out completely. Ripped it right out of the ground.

I'm sad about this. Much sadder, I'm sure, than I should be. "It was just a swing, after all," people will say.

But, to me, it was really much more than that. To me, standing there Sunday afternoon, it was almost like I'd lost a friend.

I couldn't help but think of the dozens of times I'd sat on that swing with MixedSignalGirl, or the millions of times I'd sat there without LaptopGirl, or all of the other times when I'd just go out there to relax and not think about anything for a while.

It just makes me sad that it's gone.

Let me put it this way: If Ike had destroyed my house, and my detached garage, and my swing - I'd replace my swing first and then worry about the trivial structures.

---

I wrote the above, in my little notebook, while sitting in that same coffee shop, next to that same lovely companion. Trying to feed off her creativity, I suppose, and not really succeeding. I was distracted, after all.

Now I'm across the street at Bearno's. Drinking a Goose Island Honker's Ale (132), scribbling in this notebook, and watching my phone. There's a chance that I might hear from her again tonight. There's a smaller chance that I might get to see her again tonight. So I'm waiting.

There's no sense in going home. No power there, and not even a single bar of reception on my Blackberry - just "SOS."

And, of course, she's not there either. So, I'll wait for a while. She's worth it.

That's what it says right on every bottle of Stone Arrogant Bastard: You're not worthy

Pretty clever thing, if you ask me. Take a playful jab at your potential customers. Challenge them, dare them to try to drink you.

Anyway, I'm not worthy, apparently.

I bought two 22 oz. bottles of the stuff last night. My plan had been to (a) sit on my swing, (b) glare at my phone, and (c) get as plastered as a lightweight like me can get.

What actually happened, though, was that I had one bottle of the stuff (88), then about four ounces of the second bottle (92) and that was it. I didn't get plastered. Not on 26 ounces of 7.2% beer. But I did get a little queasy in my stomach. That's when I realized that I hadn't eaten a single speck of food all day. Nothing since 6:30 Friday night, actually, when I'd had a little pizza at Rich O's.

So the final part of my grand plan was amended to (c) drink some water.

I'm worthy of water, in case you doubted that.

Somebody needs to say it. I shouldn't be the one. My objectivity would be doubted, and with good reason.

But just because I can't be totally objective doesn't mean that I can't be right.

Abusive relationships take many forms. Some are easier to recognize than others. The symptoms vary, but they all have the same solution.

I would say the same thing to anyone.

This is what has become of me. I exist for one reason.

To search, forever, for something that isn't there.

I need to stop searching, but I don't think I can.

It's too late. I'm in too deep. I can't stop. I can't give up. I won't.

Maybe there's nothing, but it's all I have.

Got an email from HatGirl this morning.

HatGirl!

Yay!

Got lots of emails from her, actually, but one in particular was hilarious.

She told me that she'd reserved a seat for me, at her wedding reception, at a table for her special friends. This table is in the front of the room, probably so she can keep an eye on us in case we get out of line. But there's also an element of honor involved.

But that part was sweet. It wasn't the hilarious part.

The hilarious part was where there was another seat, presumably next to mine, reserved for "Dave's guest."

Bwahahahaha!

The reason, of course, that this is hilarious, is that the only person who would accompany me is already busy that night.

I know she's busy that night, because she's the bride.

So I invited someone else. The girl I really want to go with anyway. Her acceptance is extremely unlikely, but stranger things have happened.

Maybe, just in case, I should go get one of those blow-up dolls. Probably better than sitting at the reception alone like a chump.

The weather page thingy says 87 degrees tomorrow, but with a 30% chance of showers and thunderstorms.

That latter part sucks, by the way. We're supposed to go do something tomorrow. I've only been looking forward to it for weeks.

So I don't know if we're going to do it or not. I guess I'll find out.

UPDATE: We're not, but not because of the stupid weather. Because of stupid work commitments.

I don't think it would come as a surprise to anyone who knows me. I'm in a fucked-up situation these days.

I spend an inordinate amount of my time looking for, I dunno, something.

For what exactly, I can't say, because I don't know what it is. I think that I might be looking for what's left. Something that survived that terrible flood. A recognizable chuck of debris on the bank, perhaps. Just something to remind me, though I could never forget.

The rest of the time, I wait.

For what? Again, I don't know. I don't know what it is, but I'm waiting for it right now.

---

I had a really good day today, but I guess I'm having a bad night. My moods bend in the slightest breeze. So tonight, I'm depressed. No big surprise there, I don't suppose. Except to me, because the cause of my mood is different than usual.

Today, it's neither the pain of the past nor the agony of the present hammering away at my mood. Nope, today it's the future, of all things, that torments my thoughts.

The thing about the future is that I'm not really sure there's going to be one.

I think that, today, I'm going to shut my cat Buddy in the basement when I get home. That way, he won't be able to fight with Nugget, and that way, I'll be able to take an actual nap.

I can't remember ever being this tired, except maybe the first time we all went to Philadelphia for work, a few years ago.

And, speaking of Philadelphia, we're all supposed to go back there in January. Oh boy! Philadelphia in January!

I'm pushing to just have us do the work from here. There's no reason that any of have to actually be in Philadelphia. But I push for this every year, and it never does any good. We always have to go.

Anyway, today I had a nice lunch with her at Hard Rock. With my potato skins, I had a Blue Moon (883) that was pretty damn tasty. My company was lovely as always.

I seem to have lost the ability to tell when someone is kidding. Or maybe I never really had that ability. This was the second day in a row that she totally fooled me with her kidding. My working theory about this is that, because I always expect the absolute worst, that's why I take this kidding seriously.

What might be an interesting experiment would be to be kidded about something good. But then I'd have to face the disappointment when the farce was revealed. And I'm pretty sure that my disappointment quota for this century is already used up.

I guess there's no way to win unless I turn into an optimist so I can recognize kidding. Not much chance of that happening.

I'm rambling because I'm tired.

I had a good day.

I should be careful, a guy could really get used to days like this.

A guy could find himself in serious trouble.