That's the subject of some SPAM I got today.

Now I don't work in sales, but I really don't think insulting a potential customer from the get-go is the best approach.

Plus, I'm neither of those things.

The minutes take eternities to pass, but somehow the years rush by.

Two years have passed in the blink of a teary eye.

I never thought it would happen. I fought for so long, I convinced myself that I was winning. I faked a smile for so long, I convinced myself that I was happy. I fell for so long, I convinced myself that I was flying.

I never thought it would happen. I never thought it could happen.

But it did.

Splat!

My world still reverberates from the force of that impact.

I don't want to say any more.

I've already said too much, yet I could never never never say enough.

Those two words would lead to those three words would lead to a billion more words, and still it would not be enough.

8:55
It's pretty dead here. There are about 10 strangers, including a bunch of beatniks in the living room. Some dipshit is in my favorite seat at the bar, so I'm sitting at the island. My beer: A bottle of Avery The Reverend. That's right, a rematch from last night.

9:00
There are strangers working tonight. The regulars are all at some wedding.

9:02
All three of those beatnik girls are hot.

9:05
CuteBartender just stopped and talked to me some. She's cute as a bug. Oh yeah, CuteBartender is working tonight, so it's not all strangers.

9:12
I think the two blonde beatnik girls are twins. Mmmmmm, hot twins.

9:18
These idiots behind me are talking about how the Rich O's in Nashville is better because you can get burgers there. News Flash: There's only one Rich O's, and you're sitting in it. You dumbasses.

9:19
Burgers would be cool though.

9:21
That brunette beatnik girl is smoldering hot. She looks like HatGirl, except slutty.

9:25
Reverend, your name tries to mask your true nature, but I am not fooled. Tonight, I am ready. Tonight, you will be defeated.

9:27
I wonder what SassyGirl is doing right now. (checking watch, calculating time difference) Probably sleeping. She wouldn't think any of these beatnik girls are hot. She never liked any of the girls I liked.

9:28
I miss SassyGirl.

9:37
These temporary bartenders have an annoying habit of looking at me all the time. I am not, as I've already stated, a piece of meat.

9:39
This dingbat behind me just asked me why the red room is called the red room. I told her that it might have something to do with the wall that's painted red, but that my money was on the 11,000 pieces of Communist memorabilia on the walls.

9:40
Piss time.

9:42
The ghost is here.

9:55
The ghost is leaving.

10:00
There a surprise party in the red room now. I'm picking up my shit and moving to the bar.

10:03
The beatniks are leaving.

10:06
Who the fuck was that?

10:07
There's a chick with a laptop, not LaptopGirl, pretty much the opposite of LaptopGirl in fact, and her laptop's screen is way too bright. It's filling the room with an eerie glow. It looks like aliens are invading.

10:15
ArtistGuy just came in. He's fucking plastered. Or exhausted. I'm betting on plastered.

10:20
CuteBartender won't take that bet.

10:21
And The Reverend (180) is down! Dave wins! Dave wins!

10:22
I order a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1547).

10:40
I've been talking to the dipshit. He's pretty cool. He was going to buy a DaveFest shirt but I'm out of his size.

10:45
They're perfect, I bet. Firm and perky and just the right size.

10:47
Piss time.

11:00

11:15
I order a Schlenkerla Rauchbier Weizen (52).

11:27
The wedding party has arrived.

There is nothing to see.

There is nothing to hear.

It is, as it always is, much more subtle than those glaring things would be.

A chill runs down my spine, and then it takes the seat next to me.

And, somehow, it warms me.

"Did you miss me?" she asks.

I take a long drag from my cigarette. I hold it for a long time. I let it out ever so slowly.

This is a game, a game that we always play.

She asks me the question, and she waits for an answer even though she knows the answer; even though I've answered the same way each and every time.

I take a sip of my beer. I swirl it around it my mouth. I savor it.

She's waited long enough.

"Only when I breathe," I say.

I dare not look at her. I need not look at her. I know what she's doing.

She's smiling.

She smiles, like she always does.

Then she frowns, like she always does.

She doesn't know how to respond.

She's silent.

I win again.

---

Wonderful eternities pass.

---

"This was nice," she says.

"I think so too," I reply.

"I'm so glad you were here," she says.

My eyes roll back. I recognize this, another game that we play.

"Where else would I be?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

She ignores my question.

She is uncomfortable, unsure, insecure.

"I might be back in a couple of days," she offers.

"I'll be here," I say, just like I always say.

"I don't know exactly when I'll be back," she says.

I take a long drag from my cigarette. I hold it for a long time.

I take a sip from my beer. I swirl it around in my mouth. I savor it.

"I'll wait for you," I say. "As long at it takes."

She wins again.

I suppose I should write my Friday report, before I'm washed to my doom in this flooding.

(DISCLAIMER: I know that some people have real floods to deal with. Some people lose everything they own, even their lives, to flooding. But I don't know any of those people, so it's okay.)

When I left my house to go to Rich O's last night it was pouring down rain.

I got there at about 8:00 I think. Doesn't really matter. The place was fucking packed. I ordered a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (470) and sat at the island with some people I know and some people I don't know.

After a while, the voice of one of the people I don't know started slicing through my skull and vibrating all of my brain cells into mush, so I grabbed my shit and moved to the bar. It was either that or murder her.

And there I sat.

At the bar, I spent most of my time talking to the ghost. It was nice to see her again. I also texted RockGirl and I also talked to some stranger who was sitting at the other end of the bar.

The Bells's wasn't tasting very good. Probably my fault. So I ordered a bottle of Avery The Reverend.

And then I sat some more. I was really enjoying the solitude. Really. I sorta wished that I'd brought my notebook though. I could have written down the conversation that I had with the ghost.

Well The Reverend turned out to be too much for me and my semi-empty stomach, so I didn't quite finish the bottle (158).

When I left Rich O's it was pouring down rain. When I got home there was water seeping into my basement. It sucked. It still sucks.

Anyway, I was bored so I was going to go to this Korner Kitchen bar near my house but NotHideousGirl texted me so I went to see her instead. I went to this Mac's place that I don't like and I drank about a million Diet Cokes and talked to NotHideousGirl until they closed the place down at 3:00 and kicked us out.

On the way home (again) it was still fucking pouring down rain.

The main road to my house was blocked because of flooding, so I took the alternate road. That road featured about a dozen telephone poles in various states of scatteredness. These were I guess new poles that somebody had stashed somewhere so they'd be available when it came time to install them.

Brilliant plan, asshole.

The first pole I encountered was completely blocking the road, but I was able to shift into 4WD and drive through the ditch next to the road. Then there was a truck coming my way so I waved to get him to stop and told him about the pole. He told me that there were a dozen more poles waiting for me in the direction I was heading.

Yippee!

Most of these poles were not completely blocking the road so I could just drive around them. But one of them, the last one in fact, lay across the road at a point where there was no way to go around.

So I shifted back into 4WD, and drove right over the fucker.

That was pretty cool.

So I made it home and spent some time sucking water off of my basement floor with my shop vac.

When I went to bed it was still pouring down rain.

As I write this it's pouring down rain again.

I think I saw an ark go by earlier.

It is raining like a mother fucker.

My basement carpet is getting wet. I hate it when that happens.

I set off my alarm when I opened my basement door to dump water out of my shop vac. I really hate it when that happens.

Stupid rain.

Look, I know that I look good in these jeans. I can't help it, and it's not the reason I'm wearing them.

I paid my five bucks so I could wear jeans today because it's comfortable, not so I could be ogled by every woman that sees me.

And it's not just the ogling, it's the flirting. The incessant attempts to start conversations.

Yes, I know it's raining outside.

No, your weather report will not make me love you for your firm grasp of current events.

Yes, I'm moving to the new building next Thursday.

No, I'm not taking you with me.

Yes, it's finally Friday.

Sorry, but I already have plans for the entire weekend.

You're all acting like giggling schoolgirls, and I'd like you to stop.

I have work to do.

I'm finding myself terribly concerned about a friend of mine. Much more concerned than I should be, given the rudimentary and intangible nature of our friendship. More of an acquaintanceship, really.

But still, I am concerned. I wish there was something I could say or do. Not to make her pain go away, as that's not my place in her life, but something to let her know...

...that she's really not alone.

But there's a problem.

I'm a guy.

She's a girl.

Anything that I say or do is going to be misinterpreted. A smile will become a wink. A simple conversation will become selfish manipulation. A compassionate hug will become a passionate embrace.

So I do nothing except sit here and write this crap, and try to send calming thoughts her way.

It's certainly not enough, but anything more would be too much.

I suppose I should just come out and say it.

I'm not worthy.

Sometimes they figure that out on their own, before it's too late. Maybe it's some little thing I say or some half-hidden expression I make. A frown perhaps, or a scowl.

But sometimes, sometimes they don't see this truth, or they see it but they don't recognize it. Maybe they just don't trust their own instincts. Maybe they still believe the lies that they've heard about love all their lives, the same lies that they keep telling themselves over and over.

The thing is, there is a reason that I'm sitting here, alone, at 1:00 AM on a Thursday night. Many reasons, in fact.

But sometimes they just don't get it. They think that the entire world has been wrong about me, and they think that only they have seen the real person lurking behind these eyes.

Sometimes they find out in time. Sometimes they find out too late. But they always find out.