Dewrinkling a shirt, letting it run through the dryer, and I have a little bit of time to kill. Figured I'd pass some of this boredom on to you readers.

Anyway.

One of my friends - I call her my lesbian girlfriend actually - seems to think that I'm gay. She seems obsessed with the idea actually. At first I thought she was just trying to break me out of this funk by getting me all riled up. Now I'm not so sure. Perhaps she actually thinks that I am the gay. This is the kind of thing that would have really bothered be back when I was younger and more closed-minded. Now I'd just kind of like to prove her wrong. So I'll be taking volunteers to help me demonstrate my non-gayness at Rich O's this weekend. Please, ladies, no pushing and shoving. Everyone will get their turn.

Tomorrow I get to re-register all of my cars and get them emission tested. As an added bonus, I get to run by the courthouse and pay some of my property tax bill. Woo Hoo!

I'm driving to Cincy Friday for this vendor demo thingy. It would be even better if I didn't have to drive back to Louisville and work afterwards. I could have probably used a night in Cincy.

The people at work are all into this fantasy football stuff, and I have to listen to them yack and yammer about it all day long. One of the few things I hate worse than actual football is fantasy football.

I had this incredibly stupid idea for an entry this morning. I actually wrote quite a bit of it before I realized just how stupid it was. Then I came up with slightly less stupid idea, and started writing it out, until I realized that it was mostly about the shit that I'm supposed to be bottling up. Now I kind of have this idea for a new series of entries, but I haven't gotten passed the initial idea stage yet.

They seem to have stopped making Diet Vanilla Coke. This makes me very sad. Now I have to choke down Diet Vanilla Pepsi or *gasp* regular non-vanilla Diet Coke.

It's almost Fall. I've got several anniversaries coming up. People dying. People leaving. A few birthdays too, but mostly sad stuff.

*ding* *ding* *ding* *ding* *ding*

Well, that's my dryer signaling the end of its cycle. Time to take my wrinkle-free self to the bar.

I wrote this as several different entries, over the course of several months, in reaction to some things that were happening in my life. I kind of like it except for the ending. The ending sucks. I've since realized that the ending was nothing but an illusion.

It's all a metaphor, of course. I like metaphors. You can hide behind them and still get your point across.

I'm not really sure why I'm combining them into a single entry like this. Probably just boredom.

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(January 25)

Chest heaving and heart pounding, he fills his lungs with sweet, sweet air. All of his senses activate at once. He relishes the sight, sound, and smell of his brief surfacing into the world of light. Before going under once again, he uses the last of his precious air to scream out a name. The depths are peaceful, but he knows they will kill him eventually. He begins to sink, smiling.

(January 29)

As his feet touch bottom, he instinctively jumps. He is surprised - these waters had seemed a lot deeper the last time. His head and shoulders break the surface, and once again he gasps for air. A quick turn of his head reveals land, perhaps a small island, off in the distance. He dares to have hope, and once again begins to sink.

(February 1)

As he nears the beach, he feels the rip tide beneath him, trying to pull him back into the depths. He struggles frantically, and finally, miraculously, feels solid ground beneath his feet. The waters, losing their grip, switch tactics. They send monstrous waves into his back, threatening to smash him into the rocks. He continues undaunted. His salvation is in sight, he will not die here. Not on this day.

He scrambles through the water that is neck-deep, then waist-deep, then suddenly he is free. He collapses onto the wet sand and crawls his way to safety.

From the jungle, glowing eyes watch.

(February 7)

The jungle envelopes him, claws at him. He doesn't know where he's going anymore. There is no sense of direction. There is - nothing at all except the sound of the twigs snapping under his feet and the rustling as his trail heals itself behind him. Even the sound of the ocean has become lost in the past.

He runs, as well as he can through the thick brush. Something is following him, some thing has been following him since he left the beach. And it's gaining on him.

(February 18)

Once again a claw rakes his skin, and he cries out. His refuge is not solid - there are small openings everywhere, and it is taking full advantage of them. Sharp talons reach in and grab at him, not able to get a firm grip but doing plenty of damage anyway. He tries to steel himself against the pain, but it always comes without warning. He begins to contemplate the impossible. He doesn't want to die like this, bleeding and cowering in the dark.

(March 1)

The dawn light snakes its way into his refuge, and he opens his eyes to the new day that he thought he'd never see. It is gone, but the deep gashes covering his body tell him that this was no dream - no terrible nightmare from which he has mercifully awakened. Cautiously, carefully, he picks himself up off the ground, pries himself loose from the sticky grasp of his own coagulating blood. The pain is nearly overwhelming, but he does not cry out. He emerges from his hiding place and warily surveys his surroundings.

He is alone, and, to his astonishment, he is no longer afraid.

(April 8)

His strength has been slow in returning. His wounds are healed, but he knows that the scars will last a long time. He wanders aimlessly about this, his island, and reflects constantly how lucky he is to at least be alive - to at least be safe.

He doesn't see it coming.

The tsunami roars in from the West, and sweeps him back out to sea. Back to where he'd started.

The depths welcome his return. The depths are so beautiful.

He opens his mouth to laugh, and his lungs fill with water.

(April 18)

There is...Nothing.

Blackness and silence surround him, seep into him.

He wonders how long it has been. A minute? A day? A million years?

Even the familiar thump thump of his heart has stopped. He ponders this, and reaches his hand to his chest, but he finds that he has no hand, and that he has no chest.

He simply exists, seeing, hearing, feeling nothing.

He waits for something to happen, and wonders if he is dead.

(June 5)

It starts as a tickle. An itch. An inkling of a sensation so faint that he hardly recognizes it. When he finally notices it, this faint ghost of a feeling, it explodes. He suddenly feels his body again, and it is on fire. For a million eternities he has felt nothing, and now he relishes in the pain.

For the pain tells him that he lives. That he exists.

Through the pain, he feels his body rise.

(July 6)

His reawakening complete, his body restored, his pain faded, he begins kicking furiously, driving himself upward. His head breaks the surface, followed by his torso, his legs, and finally his feet.

He continues to rise.

Looking in wonder at the waters below him, he realizes that he is finally free of their grip. He soars, free and safe.

But only for a moment.

For he died in the depths, and he was reborn in the depths. Without their cold embrace he cannot exist.

He is smiling when he evaporates.

It was so worth it.

The end.

(July 7 - Epilogue)

Yeah, I know. I don't really like it either. The ending sucks, and so does the writing.

I just couldn't leave the poor guy in pain forever, so I had to end it somehow.

A happy ending was not an option. Never was, really.

I could have done a better job of wrapping things up, but I decided that it would be better to just get it over with.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

---------------------------------------------

As it turned out, I could have let the guy live, but the metaphor would have broken completely down before too long anyway.

You ever just know something, even when there's nothing to support your theory?

Maybe you even get some new evidence, and it completely contradicts what you believe. But you still know that you're right.

I think that the faithful would call this, um, faith.

Dammit, I'm right about this, and there's not a thing that you can tell me or show me to convince me otherwise.

"But what about all this evidence to the contrary?" you might ask. Probably planted. All of it. Or maybe just imagined. Either way, it's not real.

I find myself faced with two choices. One, I'm insane. Two, somebody is fucking with my head by planting conflicting evidence.

I think Occams's Razor would apply to this situation.

Meanwhile, back in the outskirts of Normalville...

I broke the electric window switch on my Monte Carlo today. The part will cost me over $100. For a little plastic switch with chrome paint on it. Good thing I've got all this spare money laying around and burning holes in my pockets. Not.

I've got to burn a day of vacation on Thursday so I can take all three cars to get emission tested and get new stickers for my license plates. I'm so not looking forward to it, but at least I'll be able to go out on Wednesday night.

I've heard from several people that the new exorcism movie sucks. I kind of still want to see it, but that's mainly just to spend some time with VigilanteGirl. She hasn't bailed on me yet, but the week is still fairly young.

I got halfway through this Dead Lines book and now I've lost the damn thing. I really hate losing stuff. It's even tougher when I consider that I live alone, so it's all my fault.

Well, guess I've killed enough time. Going to go watch Big Brother now.

I've been struggling with how to respond to these accusations. Not just how, but if I should respond at all.

It's just so absurd. Nobody who knows me at all would think me capable of this.

You know what, I'm not going to bother crafting a long response. She and I both know that it's not happening that way, and that should be enough.

I'll just say one thing - She calls me.

Not that I don't understand at least some of this feedback, but for the most part it's based on a misunderstanding.

If I'm still pissed later on, and if I feel like an explanation is warranted, I'll try to clear things up.

Otherwise, I'll just let things slide, and people can think whatever they want. I expect that most people will continue to do that anyway.

I got this idea from jewels9445.

So, say you were meeting a new person - blind date, new friend, who knows. And you wanted them to have some idea of what kind of person you are, and who you are. But you can't actually tell them in so many words. Instead, you have to give them a box, with a dozen things in it for them to ponder over.

1. A bottle of Delirium Tremens (It's a beer)
2. A kitten (or maybe just a cute picture of one)
3. A cueball
4. A Rubik's Cube
5. One of my CGI landscapes
6. A Kelly Clarkson CD
7. A book: probably something by Heinlein
8. A road atlas of the United States
9. A red rose
10. A smaller box that's empty
11. A printout of some of my 'blog ramblings (EDIT: Replaced with a snow globe with an Alaskan scene.)
12. A pair of jeans

People, friends of mine, 'blog readers, whatever, keep telling me to stop bottling things up. They tell me to just let it out. That I'll feel better afterwards.

Well I've tried letting it out. Too many times. When, exactly, do I get to feel better? The most I've managed to do is empty myself completely. I then spend a few days waiting for something to fill that void and - surprise! - it's pain again! Sometimes I can conjure up something else, like anger or shock or disappointment. But none of those quite fit this hole in me. Nope, it's a pain-shaped hole, and pain seems to be all that can fill it.

People tell me that time heals all wounds.

How much time should it take? Does the passage of time even matter when the wound is constantly being reopened? When I continue to be drawn, day after day, week after week, back to the scene of the crime? Am I just supposed to feel a little bit better every day until I eventually wake up and I feel fine? Will I then say to myself "Wow, that was kind of fucked up," and then I'll get on with my life? Or will I just all of a sudden not hurt, like somebody flipped a switch? Wouldn't the shock be too much for me?

People tell me that I will get better. That things will work out.

How can anyone know for sure? How can anyone tell me, with any kind of certainty, that I won't be laying on my deathbed in forty years thinking "I wonder if she'll come to my funeral?" Every answer to every question I've asked has only unearthed more questions. There's no end in sight. This beast just continues to feed on itself.

People tell me what a good person I am. How lucky any girl would be to have me in their life.

I had lunch yesterday with a girl that's not feeling very lucky, I guarantee it. She's told me that she waited her whole life to meet me, but that she met me three months too late. She says that she's just as trapped as I am, but she started out as an innocent bystander. She says that she wants out but she can't find the right door. She says that her life is like a nightmare where all of the hallways twist around and keep leading back to the same place. Back to me. No, I don't think she feels particularly lucky to have me in her life.

People tell me that I'm blowing this all out of proportion. That it just doesn't make sense for this to have affected me this much.

I know it's absurd. It's stupid. It's beyond ridiculous. That doesn't make it any less real. Telling me that there's no good reason for these feelings only makes me feel worse. Trying to reason with me is the worst thing you can do. Because I already know all that shit.

People try to help. They really do. And I appreciate it. It's just not doing any good, and I kind of wish they'd stop.

Hey, I know! Let's play a game. I'll go back to my old ways. I'll bottle all this up, and you won't have to see it anymore. I'll pretend that everything is fine, and you can play along. It'll be just like old times! What the Hell, I'll even give MixedSignalGirl what she's been wanting. We'll probably get married and maybe even have a couple of kids before I get too old to appreciate them.

You'll all be so relieved that I'm finally okay again, and that I'm actually happy. "See?" you'll tell me. "Everything worked out in the end."

And I'll nod and tell you how you were right all along, that I just needed time to heal, and then one day I'll explode into a million pieces.

My sleep schedule was all messed up, so I didn't even get to Rich O's until after 10:00. Accordingly, I only had two beers; a Delirium Tremens (347) and then a Guinness (841).

The place was pretty empty, at least of people that I felt like talking to, so I just sat at the bar and pretended that I was happy.

Since this is such a short entry, I'll add some shit.

1. I didn't go to the Lanesville Heritage thingy again this year. My sleep schedule was just too messed up, so I ended up napping during the time I'd planned to go.

2. The new Applebee's in New Albany sucks donkey dicks. Maybe they all do. I wouldn't know - this is the first one I've ever been to. They did have bottles of Guinness (821) though, so I had two.

3. I drove the Monte Carlo around today. With Fall and Winter approaching, I won't have as many opportunities to drive it. So I'm taking advantage of what I've got.

4. Today, VigilanteGirl was wearing one of the Hard Rock shirts I bought her. She looks quite fetching in it. Dare I say yummy? Yes I do dare it. Yummy!

5. VigilanteGirl has tentatively agreed to go see that exorcism movie with me next weekend. I'll believe it when I see it.

6. I think that the hot girl from last weekend may have been an Internet stalker. That would be cool I think.

7. MixedSignalGirl used the "L" word with me today, then quickly retracted it and denied ever saying it. This is the type of thing from which nicknames are born.

8. RealTrainGirl is trying to expand the holes in her ears. I expect that in a year or so she'll have dinner plates instead of earrings.

9. My barenada.com readers seem to be pissed at me. Since I started duplicating everything at journalspace.com the number of daily messages I've received at my original site has dropped by about half.

10. I was going to make this an even 10, but I can't think of anything right now.

I don't think I mentioned ButterFace and Nerdlinger the other day. They were at Rich O's again last night. ButterFace reminds me of someone but I don't know who. With the body she's got, she could definitely do better than Nerdlinger.

Anyway, when I got to Rich O's, the place only had a half-dozen people in it. I mean in Rich O's proper - there were a bunch of people out front and in the loser area.

The problem was, the half-dozen people were so scattered about the place. Nowhere were there three seats where my friends and I could sit without invading somebody's territory.

So that's what we did. We grabbed some seats at the island next to some people that I don't know.

It was quite cool to see MisunderstoodGirl again. She was her usual bubbly and outgoing self. Not. Still cool though.

Let's see, I started off with a Spezial Rauchbier (680), and I pretty much had that finished by the time the girls arrived. Next I had a Baltika "6" (158) so I could continue my ongoing love affair with that lovely beer.

Oh yeah, I did buy the girls their first beers as payment for being so good at pretending.

RealTrainGirl keeps bugging me to go to this Oktoberfest thingy. When I hear the word Oktoberfest I figure it's all about lagers, and since I don't like lagers I don't want to go.

Lanesville, my first hometown, is having this heritage festival this weekend. Every year I tell myself that I should go and check it out, and every year I end up not going. I imagine that this year will be no different, but as of this writing I'm still planning to head down there later today. We'll see.

Once my Baltika was gone I had a half-glass of Spezial (690).

It was one of those nice and pleasant evening that I've come to loathe, but it was much better than the last few boring nights at Rich O's have been. I enjoyed myself.

On the way home I was feeling nostalgic so I went into this bar near my home that had been my Dad's old hangout. I was going to have a Falls City in his honor but they no longer carry it. That fact, more than anything else, told me that times have indeed changed. I was, however, pleasantly surprised to see Newcastle so I had a bottle of that (1632).

Then when I got home I was going to read some 'blogs but InsightBB decided to crap out again so I just went to bed.