Since I'm not sleeping any more, I've used all that extra time to tweak my 'blog software to include links to newer or older entries.

This should be a refreshing change from having to wade through all those monthly entries.

Or maybe I'm the only one who'll notice.

I've had a horrible premonition.

I know this is hard to believe, because all of my recent entries have been nothing but fuzzy bunnies and dancing fairies, but take my word for it - it's bad.

Were this to actually come to fruition I'm pretty sure that my only recourse would be to spontaneously burst into flames.

I'm pretty sure that would get misinterpreted as well.

The following people rock:    Ted Nugent

The following people most definitely do not rock:    Clay Aiken

These lists are not meant to be all-inclusive.

I sit here wanting to type an entry but I find myself lacking the words.

Actually I'm not exactly lacking for words, just coherent thoughts.

My thoughts are evolving too quickly. I can't get my brain wrapped around anything long enough to make a sentence out of it.

Shock, sadness, relief, anger, disappointment, curiosity, blame, determination, grief, fear, speculation, impatience, regret, doubt, depression, wonder, pessimism, optimism, nervousness, callousness, understanding, drama, accusation, resignation...

I could go on and on. At night, instead of allowing me to sleep, my mind takes these and countless other thoughts and creates elaborate storylines that branch madly, twisting and weaving, joining and separating, spreading and collapsing. None ever finish. None ever get wrapped up in the end. I resolve nothing then finally I sleep out of sheer exhaustion.

The simple facts are that I don't know what to think, or what to say, or what to do. I don't even know if I should think or say or do anything.

Things are as they are. Life is not a movie where you get to live happily ever-after. There might not be a pot of gold for every rainbow, or a silver lining for every cloud, or a dawn for every dark night.

I suppose I'll keep looking for those things though. I'm at least open to the possibility of their existence. I've at least learned that much.

Six thousand one hundred and eleven days, nineteen hours, forty-four minutes and twenty-one seconds...

Six thousand one hundred and eleven days, nineteen hours, forty-four minutes and twenty-two seconds...

Six thousand one hundred and eleven days, nineteen hours, forty-four minutes and twenty-three seconds...

...

...

...

Damn.

One second...

Two seconds...

Three seconds...

In an attempt to feign some semblance of normalcy I present this entry.

I got to Rich O's at about 8:00, expecting a huge crowd (they're having their hoppy beer festival) but the place was actually only about half-full. CoffeeDude was talking to some lady at the bar, and MisunderStoodGirl was sitting in the living room area with a bunch of guys I never saw before.

I grabbed a seat at the island for two reasons. First, I was still reeling about the news from LaptopGirl, and second, MisunderstoodGirl had a large sign proclaiming "Warning: Live Homosexual Acts Ahead" and if I'd sat on the couch with her I might have had a lot of explaining to do.

So I sat at the island, by myself, and had a Belhaven Ale while I tried to get a grip on myself. After a bit I called my cousin Jeff and promised him some good beer if he'd come down to Rich O's. I had a bottle of Kwak that was quite good, though not as good as I remember the draft version being.

As the night progressed Jeff did show up, as did NotGeorge and PirateGuy. MisunderstoodGirl was joined by TrainGirl and RealTrainGirl. I took the opportunity to update RealTrainGirl on my uncle's condition and promised to tell him that she wished him a speedy and full recovery.

The responsibility of providing good beer to Jeff was not one I took lightly. I started him out with a Mad Bitch. This may have been his first Belgian ale. I'm not sure if he really liked it or not - all I got from him was "It's certainly different." It certainly is, especially when you're used to drinking Newcastle almost exclusively.

It was at about this time that LaptopGirl called from the road. I ended up passing the phone around to the girls so she could talk to all of them. Once I got the phone back I was asked a series of yes-or-no questions. I'm hoping for an explanation as to what this was all about sometime soon.

Once I'd finished my Kwak and Jeff had finished his Mad Bitch I had the bartender bring out a couple of bottles of Alaskan Smoked Porter. Jeff had introduced me to smoked beer years ago and I certainly wanted him to be able to drink one of the best there is.

The girls had heard about Jeff's slight homophobia in the past and they - especially MisunderstoodGirl - all wanted to mess with his head but I guess I talked them out of it because everyone was very civilized.

One other item of note was that Rich O's was nearly overflowing with beautiful women. By overflowing I mean by Rich O's standards - there were three beautiful women there that nobody had seen before. Jeff and I split on who was the prettiest. He was partial to the long-haired brunette sitting on the couch, while I couldn't stop twisting my neck around to check out the mousy-haired girl behind us in the red room. To end this tie-breaker I enlisted RealTrainGirl who seemed quite sure that RedRoomGirl was indeed the hottest girl of the two.

Once Jeff left, and the strangers in the living room area finally left I went over and sat with the girls for a while. They were going out somewhere and they all invited me. MisunderstoodGirl actually tried to lift me from the couch to get me to leave with them. I was able to decline because MisunderstoodGirl, while seemingly quite fit, weighs in at maybe half what I do.

Once I was alone in the living room area LaptopGirl called again. I had this sudden vision of my life becoming a series of random and meaningless events highlighted only by the occasional call from LaptopGirl. I may never be able to sleep soundly again for fear that I'll miss a call. This phone call continued the earlier yes-or-no line of questioning, and I understood it even less this time than I had earlier. LaptopGirl accused me of talking too loudly and allowing everyone in the bar to hear me but that really wasn't the case. The bar was very nearly empty at that point and the people that were there were all in the red room.

Once I got home LaptopGirl called again and updated me on her situation. The bar I'd recommended from the brewspaper had turned out to be a dud. She was off looking for a better place. Kind of the theme of her entire trip I suppose.

When I finally got to sleep I dreamed that LaptopGirl and I were taking a trip to some unnamed place. At one point Jeff joined us and he and LaptopGirl got into an argument over politics. We ended up murdering Jeff and dumping him into the Grand Canyon. Then it was several years later and LaptopGirl's presidential bid was in jeopardy because someone had found Jeff's body and I had to take the fall.

That's what friends do after all.

This entry has replaced an earlier one entitled "voices" because that old entry is now completely irrelevant.

Actually the majority of the last two weeks, and a good part of the last several months, is now irrelevant.

LaptopGirl has gone. She has moved Westward seeking happiness and adventure.

I'm sad. I'm hopeful that she'll find what she's looking for, and I'm grateful for the walls inside me that she unwittingly helped break down, but most of all I'm just sad.

I'm selfish that way.

Happy birthday to my Grandma Siltz!!

And it looks like you got the present you wanted!

With my uncle in the hospital, I've been thinking about death and dying today.

Sounds like fun, right?

But I've been thinking about the serious, non-fun side of it all.

There are important considerations that we all must, um, consider at one time or another because, let's face it, the medical and scientific communities are just not keeping up with the predictions made for them back when optimistic predictions about the future were all the rage.

It's the year 2004. We're all supposed to be piloting our flying cars to the beach and then when we push a button our car turns into a submarine so we can go to those wonderful undersea resorts that the mermaids build with their government grant money.

We're supposed to be eating pills for all of our meals unless we have one of those fancy rehydrators where we put in a little doohickey the size of a book of matches, we push a button, and out pops a half-pound porterhouse steak in just two seconds, complete with a baked potato on the side. For applesauce you have to do it separately because the settings are different.

We're supposed to have holodecks in our houses so we can have nonstop orgies with our favorite celebrities.

And we're supposed to be living a lot longer than we are.

I suppose to a guy back in the 1830s, when the average life expectancy was like 15 or so, living to your mid-70s would seem like a utopian dream. But I bet the people today who are in their mid-70s or older don't think that way.

I bet they're wondering what happened to the clone banks where if they need an organ, they just pop a clone in the microwave (or the rehydrator I suppose) and then harvest what they need.

Or maybe they're wondering about the nanotechnology that was supposed to fix everything by swimming around in our bodies eating up all the bad stuff and crapping out good stuff like gold atoms that accumulate in your bowel until you shit solid gold turds that allow you to pay your cable bills.

Some of the old people are probably wondering what their names are or what year it is, but those people are probably too far gone for even the nanites to help so they're really screwed.

But I digress.

To me one of the most important things about dying, after you get past the when, where, and how, would have to be the what about after issue.

What about after I die and my relatives come into my house and find my porn collection? Just kidding, I don't have a porn collection. Nope. Not me.

What about after I die if nobody notices and my cats have to feed on my corpse until they perish themselves?

Finally, what about after I die and I had stuff left to say?

Back when my dad died so suddenly I was all fired up about this kind of thing. I wanted to be prepared for when I died (killed by a jealous lover perhaps, or some comical but deadly hip-vibrating disease) and I wanted to have all of my affairs (no pun there) in order.

I used the same lawyer that had handled my dad's estate to help me in preparing my own will, testament, and whatever else he thought might be needed.

One of the really fun things I did back then was start writing letters to everyone I could think of that had been important to me. I figured I'd have the letters in my Death Envelope and one of my sisters could hand them out at my funeral. Good Times for all!

The only problem with that plan was that I got about halfway through the first letter and I had to stop because it was just too damn hard trying to think of enough things to say to fill a reasonably-sized letter. I could do a note or maybe even a postcard, but a letter was just asking for too much. I mean, here I (hypothetically) am dying and I'm supposed to spend my last weeks writing letters to people and for all I know they're really gonna piss me off right before I die but I'll forget to write nasty things in their letter and then it'll be too late and they'll think all was forgiven.

Not so fast there, Speedy.

But I digress again.

I don't have any letters. Hopefully there'll be some kind of medical or scientific breakthrough (or at least a Democratic president) and I'll never need any.

Instead of letters I have just a few requests. Call them final wishes if you want to and if that?ll make you pay more attention.

One: None of my sisters or nieces are allowed in my house until Jeff or Eric or Chris has had a chance to make sure that nobody snuck in and planted a porn collection somewhere.

Two: My cats must not be separated. My sister Neisha could probably just sneak them into her house and nobody would notice.

Three: Jeff gets the pool stuff.

Four: Closed casket and cremation.

Five: Dump my ashes wherever you want, just dump them and don't put them on a damn mantle or anything morbid like that. And none of those damn roadside shrines - those really piss me off and I'll definitely haunt your ass if you do that.

I think that's it.

Speaking of death, RIP goes out to Rodney Dangerfield. Here's one of my favorite jokes from him:

I never got any respect even as a kid. Why when I was kidnapped my parents got a call saying if they didn't pay $5000 they'd see me again.

My cell phone is set to vibrate, because I'm at work, and I keep imagining that it's vibrating, but when I check it's doing no such thing.

I'm probably a little oversensitive because my uncle is in the hospital and I know if the phone does vibrate it could be someone calling with bad news.

So I may just be imagining this vibrating.

Or I could have some new hip disease that they'll name after me once it kills me.

This all reminds me of a funny thing I overheard at work.

There was this buzzing/vibrating noise coming from the cubicle of a guy with all kinds of gadgets.

Over the noise that other day I heard a woman's voice:

"Can I borrow that when you're done?"

Well it was funny to me anyway.