This is my site. It's not yours. If it was yours, I probably wouldn't be writing in it. Or at least not as much. And you'd probably be the protagonist, not me.

This site contains no nudity. You should be grateful for that, after seeing how many home movies I have here. This site does, however, contain a fair amount of profanity, especially the blog entries. I could go back and change everything to give the site a more family-friendly rating but I don't fucking want to.

So, if you're under 18 years old, then you should leave this site, and get off my lawn. If you're an adult, yet some kind of pansy who's offended by adult language in a personal blog, it would probably be a good idea for you to leave also.

If you're too horrified to look away, however, I invite you to stick around and see what my little corner of the Internet has to offer.

Maybe it's just a matter of reigning myself in a little. I've certainly been unable to stop myself, even though quite often lately I've wanted to do just that.

This is an idea I had come to me last night. Apparently this idea was hiding at the bottom of a glass of Marzen (12419). That's a weird place for an idea to be hiding, but I'll still take it.

Wanting something because you feel like you should want it, or because you used to want it, or because you can't think of anything better?

Smells like bullshit to me.

I've been so damn stubborn. I watched everything crumble and I refused to really accept that it was happening. Had happened. Whatever.

Trying to stay somewhat cryptic here, while remaining readable. I don't think I'm succeeding.

The other night I found myself smiling, when I had a realization that there was one thing that hadn't crumbled.

One thing that hadn't changed.

And it never will. And it's the only thing that matters. There need be no expectations to erode or desires to dull. Lust lessens and faith falters and wants wane and hope becomes hazy.

Fuck all that other stuff, all that icing. I really think I can do this. I've already been doing it for years, after all.

I'm not thinking very clearly. It's very frustrating. I can't even obsess over a single thought, like normal. Nope, all I can do is sit back and sort of watch the show, turn my gaze inward and glare.

Nothing fits. No ideas, no feelings, no resolutions, nothing will stick. I don't know what I want, and I don't know what I want to want. My mind rejects everything like water rejects oil.

Well, I guess I do still have that one thing. But I've been suspecting that it's running on inertia, so I don't trust it fully.

I think that I want things to be okay, but I don't know what that means. Its shape fluctuates wildly and it never stays the same long enough for actual desire to form around it.

Wow, I'm really rambling. Like I said, I'm not thinking clearly.

I'm irritated this morning. And worried. Not really sad, though, so that's nice.

I keep trying to write an entry, but none of the thoughts racing through my head will slow down enough for me to catch it and pin it down and dissect it.

I was just reading some old emails, from a year ago. Right before and right after I found out she was seeing someone.

I read one email wherein I said that I expected to have to go through it several times, and that each time would be tougher than the last, but that it would all be worth it eventually. I'd be the one who would always be there when she needed someone, and eventually I'd be noticed.

And now, a year later, I fear that it's all starting again. And I'm not there.

This really sucks.

Maybe it'll storm tonight. That always cheers me up. Must buy some beer, though.

I wish I knew how to fix all this, I really do. Maybe it's so hard because it can't be fixed. Maybe, even after everything that's changed, one thing is still the same. Maybe we're still too lopsided.

The thing that I need to do, though, is figure out what I want. Or, more precisely, what I want to want. Because things have changed, and not for the better.

The solution that keeps coming to me, time and time again, is to pretend that everything is fine. To act like I don't care. To lie, in other words.

I don't like that solution, but I'm starting to see the appeal of it. At the very least, it would give the appearance of balance.

I really want to write something relevant now.

But I won't.

Or can't.

Because I'm drunk. Or very tipsy. I'm at home though, so it's okay.

Hic.

It would have been awesome, though.

I've been seeing variations of this around. I'm bored and I can't sleep, so what the heck.

Airline miles. First I saved enough to go to Hawaii, then I saved enough to go to Hawaii first-class, then I saved enough to go with somebody special. Now I think I've got enough to go first-class with somebody special, but nobody wants to go with me.

Baseball. When I was a kid I was a pretty big fan of the Reds. I played little league and stuff, and I could run fast and I could whack the crap out of the ball. But I couldn't field for shit.

Cats. I have two of them now. I used to have three, but poor Happy died last fall when I was busy. I've always been more of a cat person than a dog person.

Dangerfield. My funniest Rodney Dangerfield joke is, "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."

Every time I think that things are getting better, they suck even harder.

Farrah. The way I found out about Michael Jackson's death was that KittenDamsel told me a joke. "What was Farrah Fawcett's dying wish?" "That Michael Jackson would die."

Goth. Laptopgirl told me that she used to be goth. I really really really want to see pictures from those days. I bet she was hot.

HatGirl. Yay!

Igloo. That was just the first thing that popped into my head that started with that letter. I bet they're hard to build.

Jackie was the name of one of the first girls I ever had a crush on. It was second grade.

K as in the letter K. It's a bad-luck letter for me when it comes to women. As opposed to all of the incredibly fantastic luck I have the rest of the time.

Launa was my mom's name. If I were to ever have a daughter, I'd want to name her Launa.

Meow. That's what Buddy is doing right now. He thinks that he's starving to death because he hasn't eaten since midnight or so.

North. I wish I'd done more exploring when I lived in Alaska. I mean, I did quite a bit, but I should have done more. I want to go back someday.

Oppossums. I don't like them and their beady eyes.

Pickles. They suck. Their smell contaminates everyting around them, and God help you if you get pickle juice on something because that smell is never going away.

Quack. Part of this entry fragment that I like: If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck and swims like a duck and quacks like a duck - guess what, it's a fucking duck. Call it a cherry pie all you want, but it's still a damn duck.

Rise. That's what the Sun is going to do before too long. I should go outside and watch.

Sometimes I wish I'd never told her the truth. But only sometimes.

Tornadoes. I'd still like to see one someday, as long as it's not coming straight at me.

Underwear. I wear boxers. You know you care.

Vanquish. I don't know why I thought of that word. Maybe I'm tired.

WeatherGirl has always been nice to me. Her dog sucks, though.

X-rays. I've had my shoulder and my foot and my knee x-rayed. Oh, and my teeth. No super-powers yet, though. I'm still waiting.

YoungGirl and I had dinner Sunday evening. It was nice to have the company.

Zoo. I like the Tazmanian Wolves. I think they're cool-looking. They smell like skunks, though.

You ever get a desire and at first you don't pay much attention to it, because you figure it's just collateral damage, and then it grows and grows and sometimes threatens to consume you? And you can't think about anything else, even those things that are much more important and much more noble and even much more realistic?

Yeah, me too.

Most people probably think that I'm a pessimist. They're wrong for thinking that, but I guess I understand their mistake. It's just that I try to prepare for the worst.

The problem that I have is that "the worst" is an ever-changing thing. What was "the worst thing" yesterday is nothing but the fucked-up past today, and there's an entirely new "worst thing" for me to prepare for.

I've told RockGirl, several times, that I expect to be murdered someday. And, not only that, I expect that I know exactly who my killer will be. It's just common sense. A trivial extrapolation that a child could do while sleeping.

But that's in the far-off future. I won't have to worry about that until a million other bad things have happened. And I'll wait for each and every one of those things, and I'll endure each and every one of those things, because they must be important or they'd certainly have stopped by now.

I used to joke about the bad things, until they happened. After that, they didn't seem all that funny to me anymore.

I'm in a good mood. That doesn't make any sense at all.

It must be denial.

What will tomorrow bring?

I don't know, but I bet it will suck, whatever it is.

I know that I'm probably jumping the gun. Things fall apart all the time, but I have a feeling that it's not going to happen this time. I'm not sure why I feel this way. Probably a combination of optimism and desperation.

I found myself sitting in my garage last night, planning my route and coming up with a rudimentary itinerary. I gave very little thought to getting prepared, but I never do that. That's not the fun part, after all. That's the part that will suck. Figuring out what to take, what to leave. Who to tell and what to tell them.

Who to invite?

Whoa, where did that thought come from?

I must contemplate this idea further...