I remember the first time I had to gasp like this. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. What had just happened. What this portended. Everything had changed, and I only needed to live, to keep gasping for air, until it changed again.

Sometimes, things don't work out.

To be so lucky, and still so cursed.

Words didn't work. Actions didn't work. Precious comfortable promising moments didn't work. Even the fucking magic wand didn't work.

My gasps aren't much more than exclamation points now. Screams from a voice that's gone hoarse.

First spin, I got some thing called "Jack be Nimble" and it showed a little computer movie where this Jack outran some monsters for a random amount of time. I won $4500 on that spin.

The next spin, I won a thing called "Tyrant's Choice" where a King dude just made up a random amount for me to win.

He decided that I had won $65,000,000,000.

That was nice of him.

Then I woke up.

I poke the sleeping beast, to awaken it, to be reminded of the danger that I face.

It's so easy to forget. To be distracted by fleeting glimpses and wispy remnants of fading dreams. By facades and lies.

I poke the sleeping beast. I bare my chest to its claws.

It slashes. Rips. Tears.

And I remember.

Idle for a long time, I mean. Looks like the last entry was four and a half years ago.

At least I write more often than that.

I've got a lot of topics, but I've never had a segue.

Oh well. This will have to do.

Anyway...

Wednesday after work, because I'm stupid, I went to Sportstime (AKA The Weird Side). Just in case, you know? Last time I went there on a Wednesday was, um, interesting.

While there, I realized that I was there for a stupid reason, so I texted OddlyFamiliarGirl to give me a non-stupid reason for being in that area. Like maybe we could meet at stupid Jack's¹ or something. Kind of a virtual Sunday.

Well, she said she could-ish meet me, then she flaked, then she said she could meet me after all, but by that time I was home already. We ended up saying we'd do it Thursday night instead.

First thing Thursday morning, OddlyFamiliarGirl texted to flake again. I didn't let this bother me, because there was plenty of time left for an unflaking. I remained confident.

After work I went straight to stupid Jack's and texted OddlyFamiliarGirl. As I'd expected and hoped, she unflaked and said she'd be there at 6:00.

As I had over an hour to kill, I grabbed a table and shot pool for an hour or so. I was using my Predator SP, the one I bought in Omaha in 2004 and just had shipped to me. I kinda like it, but the main reason I had it with me was because it's the only cue I feel halfway good about leaving in my car.

Anyway, as women are so wont to do, OddlyFamiliarGirl was late. But, as most women are totally not wont to do, she texted me to let me know that she'd be late.

So I killed some time talking to this one dude who's also an outcast from Rich O's, and to this other dude who's pretty much an outcast from society.

Once OddlyFamiliarGirl showed up, we pretty much just did our usual thing. Sat and talked and drank and smoked. Fun and educational. She is trying to help me with this one conundrum so I don't fuck it up and make it even worse than it already is. I think she can help. OddlyFamiliarGirl is really smart and stuff.

Also, that one girl was really hot. I did an admirable job, I think, of pretending to ignore her while I continued my conversation with my friend. Had that girl been wearing glasses, however, then all bets would have been off.

I had myself a couple GumballHeads, then I switched to Diet Coke for the rest of the evening. I'm such a lightweight.

Then, around 10:00, I came back home and eventually went to bed.

It was a nice night.

1 - I don't think I've ever really explained why I call the place stupid Jack's. Instead of, you know, Jack's, which is its real name. It's stupid Jack's because I used to go there to be closer to LaptopGirl's apartment, in case she invited me over. It wasn't stupid Jack's at the time - it was all efficient and shit - but once the invitations stopped it became stupid. This is not the same reasoning behind the name stupid Bearno's when referring to the Floyds Knobs location of that chain.

I had all the words corralled in my head.

Waiting. Ready. Eager.

A year would have been awesome.

But noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I don't get to release the words.

Fuck, I don't even get to write eleven in four minutes. I'd really been looking forward to that.

I have to start all over again.

Good thing I have patience.

I remember reading that old people often have moments of clarity right before they die. A few precious minutes to be themselves, with their thoughts and their emotions and their memories. A few precious minutes, then they die.

I don't remember where I read that. I don't know if it's true or not. I also don't know what it means that, for the last three days, I've had almost perfect clarity.

RockGirl says I'm probably not about to die. She's usually right about that sort of thing, so I'll go ahead and believe her.

In 2005 and 2006 and even a couple of times in 2008, I found clarity. I stopped being distracted by the context of my life, and I started actually living that life. As well as I could, anyway.

Each of those times, I thought and hoped that it might last forever, but it never did. Each of those times, it only lasted for a few hours before the context rose back up to drown me.

This is a pretty crappy time of the year for me. I've written before about how I hate the Fall and November in particular. It would be so easy to lose focus. It would be so expected to lose focus.

So far, though, so good.

Okay, so those words aren't here. They're elsewhere. You just have to know what to Google. Good luck finding them.

Anyway.

In ten days I'll write a quickie called Eleven or something like that. It will happen. Unless it doesn't.

I don't know what I want. I know I've written that before. It's just a fucked up situation. It's a problem with no solution, at least not a solution that I have any control over.

People can change, but it's rare. People can give a shit, but it's more rare. People can admit the truth to themselves, but that's the most rare of all.

There was another site, not mine. I can't think of the name of it for sure. Some place for anonymous venting. I wrote one thing on that site, once, well over a year ago.

I'm in love with a girl I can't stand. I miss her constantly, but then as soon as I'm with her I can't wait to get away.

And the funny thing is, it doesn't end. My feelings haven't changed one iota. My thoughts have run the gamut, but my feelings, my feelings are still the same as they've been for over eight years now.

If I believed in God, I'd become an atheist just to spite the cocksucker. No way no how do I deserve this. Nobody deserves this.

I'm actually in a decent mood right now.

I'm pissed about that.

---

It's not loneliness I feel. It's much more specific than that. It's always specific. One, or the other, or another. I'm alone most of the time, but I don't always feel alone. I'm okay, sometimes.

Crowds are the worst for me. For me, it's impossible to not feel alone in a crowd. I just want to slink into myself and hide from all the chaos around me. Or I find one and I focus.

---

I just have to focus. That's how I manage things like the other night. Once I'd resigned myself to the fact that I couldn't grow eyes in the back of my head, I was able to stop being so damn nervous. Because it wasn't doing either of us any good. We ended up having good time, despite my initial misgivings about going there. A really good time.

---

I don't know where this might lead. Maybe nowhere. Maybe somewhere. That's part of the excitement, I suppose. It's not boring, that's for sure.

---

Picklepie runs up onto my deck most nights when I get home. I pour food in his bowl, but he doesn't want that. He's getting plenty of food somewhere. All he wants from me is to be petted and loved. So I do that. He's a good kitty. I miss him when he disappears.

---

It's not that. Not all of the time. Most of the time, it's just an ache. I can live with it, since it seems that I have no choice.

And you try to convince yourself that it wasn't all wasted. And you fail. And you want to break down. Because it's just too long. Because it's just too much.

Faith is a funny thing. And by funny I mean incredibly cruel.

I used to have this thing. This delusion, I guess. Or maybe a psychosis. I thought it was just hope, but seeing as I was subject to delusions and psychosises, my opinion never held much weight. Not even with me.

That was circular reasoning, back there.

Also, I made that word up.

Regarding one particular, um, relationship, I used to think that things would be fine. That it was just a rough patch. That, as long as I stayed true, eventually I'd be treated nicely. It's been a long time since I've felt that way about that particular, um, relationship. After enough mistreatment, I began to expect the worst from every encounter. I lost that hope or delusion or psychosis or whatever. I expected to be shit upon.

Finally, I got to be right. Yay for me, I guess.

Now, there's another, um, relationship that's falling apart. And I find myself doing the same thing. I keep thinking that it will be okay. That this is just a rough patch. That we're way too close to let a little thing like this come between us. That, as long as I stay true, I'll be treated nicely.

So far, not so much.

I think it's a very sad thing, that what used to be so beautiful has been reduced to me waiting for hope to end.

Yes, indeed, it's a very sad thing.

Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. Anything after Tuesday would be a miracle, I think.

There's nothing I can do, except wait for the inevitable, and prepare to mourn.

Almost immediately after her death, the petition for beatification started making its rounds. It's still making its rounds. That's what happens when people die. They're suddenly the greatest person who ever lived, and everyone I mean everyone is devastated that they're gone. Because they were so great, and stuff.

So the poor huddled masses left behind, they want to do something to honor and sing the praises of the person that lived, so that maybe that person wouldn't seem quite as dead. I mean, memories certainly outlive people, may as well let them be good memories, right?

Right? Even at the cost of honesty?

Part of it might be because of guilty conscience, part of it might be because of the glaring reminder of our own mortality, and a lot of it is simply going with the mourning flow. Mostly, I like to think, it's because people are genuinely decent at their cores. Most people, anyway.

This lady who died, she was very nice. She was very friendly. She was also quite pushy at times, and a gossip most of the time. There, I said it. I think she managed to piss me off more over the last couple of years than not, prying as she was so wont to do. I think she managed to make as many people feel uncomfortable as she made feel welcomed.

For the last couple of years, my own interactions with her were reduced to simple hellos and goodbyes. Any deeper discussion was off limits between us, and eventually she figured that out and stopped pressing.

Nobody's perfect. Not even after they die. This might be cold, but it's also true. And the lady who died, she was smart enough and certainly honest enough to know it. She would hold no ill will towards me for the words I write tonight. She'd appreciate them, for they're clearly neither empty praise nor pointless parroting.

That place, Rich O's, has certainly changed a lot over the years that I've been going there. Then, a couple of Thursdays ago, it changed a lot more. Like I told her son at the informal wake the night of the funeral, Rich O's will never be the same again.

The world is a worse place now than it was a couple of weeks ago. I can't always say that, but I can say it now.