I used to have this thing, back when MixedSignalGirl served as my muse. More than a habit, it was, but less than a rule. I'd write something, every single night. Whether good, or bad, or indifferent, I'd always write at least one entry.

I liked it, back then. I always felt like I was accomplishing something, each and every day. Even if my so-called accomplishment was nothing more than vomiting drivel onto the internet, it was still better than nothing. And it made me feel like I was better than nothing.

I'd like to be able to feel that way again.

People are getting fed up with me. Grudging respect has turn to disdain and pity. Impatience and frustration rule every interaction. I hear it in their voices. I read it in their emails and in the comments they leave on my blogs.

I see it in their eyes.

I see it in my eyes, when I dare to look into a mirror.

It's almost time, I think.

This used to be about me. I could say whatever I wanted to say, because nobody was listening. I could feel whatever my heart compelled me to feel, because nobody cared. Not really.

But it's not about me anymore. Now that emotional and physical separation has been taken away, there are others. Wonderful, amazing others.

To most people, this has been naught but a show. A one-man play, with one improvised scene that has continued for years. Audiences have come and gone, interest has waxed and waned, and I have continued my performance, oblivious. The hero and the villain and the comic relief, all rolled into one.

When do I stop? When do I take a bow? When do allow the curtain to close?

This is coming to an end, I think.

It's almost time, I think.

Is that what I'm supposed to do? Just settle for the next girl who I like that likes me back?

Opportunities for true happiness are rare for me, and they're only going to get more scarce.

Am I supposed to just give up and give in? And put out?

I could make someone happy, and I could be happy myself. But should I settle for happy, knowing that the love of my life is a kiss away?

Is happy supposed to be good enough?

Doesn't the girl who unlocked my heart deserve special consideration? Incredible understanding? Extraordinary patience?

Shouldn't I wait forever?

I know of at least one person who's probably getting a huge kick out of all this.

Reading my blog, between the lines, the things that I cannot and will not say. Imagining the pressure building up inside me. Gleefully imagining the day that I'll explode into a million pieces.

"It's what he deserves, after all," she says to herself.

There are too many similarities. There are too many parallels.

It's like my life is preordained, nothing more than a grotesque reflection of my own immutable past. I am living the nightmare that I once caused for another. My silent screams do not awaken me, they only push me deeper into terror.

I hand out advice like acid at Woodstock, but I ignore it when it's given to me. Even when it's the same advice.

I tell myself that things will get better, even though my own experience tells me that this can only end in sorrow.

I have become the victim of my own desires. They stalk me, they toy with me, eventually they will destroy me. But not until they're tired of their games, and I fear that will be a very long time from now.

To pass the time, I surround myself with hypotheticals. What would I do, if? What should I do, when? How should I prepare, just in case?

But it's all bullshit. There's no if and there's no when and there's no just in case. There's only reality, closing in inexorably, crushing every possibility except the one that leads to an end. To our end. To my end.

I know of at least one person who's probably laughing her ass off about this. It's what I deserve, after all.

I have a problem writing about nice things. I have zero creativity when it comes to things like that. That being said, here goes.

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I've asked several people since Friday night, and nobody thinks I'm dumb at all. Most people, in fact, say that I'm quite smart. So there.

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NABC Cone Smoker is back!

Yay!

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Tuesday evening I got to have dinner with HatGirl and then go to Rich O's with her.

HatGirl!

Yay!

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WeirdGirl told me again that she misses my tongue. That's kinda sweet of her to say that.

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I never would have predicted it, but I totally want a baby in my life. Strange but very true.

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Today I stayed home from work because I was feeling icky. But now I feel much better. Almost healthy, actually.

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The things in my life that are, by far, the most wonderful and amazing and fulfilling? I still can't write about those things, but they're fucking awesome.

I'm not the bum, but I still got the fucking bum's rush.

But that's not the annoying part.

Nope, the fucking annoying part is that I knew this was going to happen, I was warned that this was going to happen, yet I went anyway.

Nobody to blame but myself.

I remember this one time, not too long ago, that my friend RockGirl was glaring at her phone, and it rang.

It actually rang!

I begged and pleaded for her to give me her secret glaring method, so that I might enjoy the same success.

But, unfortunately, she didn't remember what it was she had done differently.

The moral of this story is to videotape your life so you have a record of everything you ever do.

I suppose that wondering can't really be held against me. I mean, I get pissed at myself, for wondering. But it's a pretty normal human activity, I suppose. Not evil at all, and not really stupid, either, as long as it's kept in check.

I wonder if it ever bothers her when I leave. If she ever thinks, just for a second, that things would make more sense if I stayed. That something is wrong, something just doesn't add up, and that maybe if I stayed it would make things right.

I wonder if it ever pisses her off, when I leave, the way it pisses me off when I come home and face yet another night alone.

Early Friday afternoon I found myself missing my dad. A little more than usual, I mean. I was sitting in my Monte Carlo at the car wash, so that probably had something to do with it. The next thing I knew I was shivering at his gravesite.

Then to continue down nostalgia's trail I went to this Hitching Post bar in Louisville. It was Dad's hangout in New Albany. I try to go in there each year, on the anniversary of his death, and have a Falls City beer to his memory. Well, they don't make Falls City anymore, but they do still make Budweiser (24), and it's pretty much the same thing.

After a while, the bartender recognized Dad's old Monte Carlo parked out front, and so he figured out who I was. Next thing I knew there were three or four people in there talking about Dad, and they all had very good things to say. So that was nice.

Then this lady and her hot daughter came in and sat with me for a while. The mom said she'd met me before. I didn't remember it. The daughter kept making goo-goo eyes at me, and we made half-assed plans to go out sometime. I doubt that will ever happen but, just in case, I've dubbed her GooGooGirl.