I guess SassyGirl is mad at me. I didn't go to their Gay Night thingy on Monday because I was too tired. Haven't been able to get in touch with her since. So of course I assume that she's pissed instead of simply working.

Thursday evening I went to Rich O's. It's pretty rare for me to go out on a Thursday, or any work night for that matter, but I'm supposed to work at 6:00 AM Sunday morning so I figure that Saturday night will be a bust and I made up for it Thursday.

Anyway, there was nobody I knew there. I sat on the loveseat and had myself a yummy Bell's Kalamazoo Stout (255) and listened to a couple of guys talk about computers. Neither of them knew the slightest thing about them. I got a kick out of it for some reason.

Also one of them was drinking three different beers at once. I shit you not. He had three half-pints in front of him, each with a different beer. He'd take a sip out of one, then the next, then the next. Very strange.

Once those dipshits left I moved over to the throne and read my stupid horoscope from Free Will Astrology:

Happy Valentine Daze, Pisces! Borrowing the words of poet Pablo Neruda, I've prepared a love note for you to use as your own. Feel free to give these words to the person whose destiny needs to be woven more closely together with yours.

I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses.

I know writing is bad when even I can do better. But of course I won't bother because there's nobody. Waaaaaah!

Anyway.

This dude that looks like my cousin Robbie came over and we bullshitted for the rest of the time I was there.

I had another pint of the stout (275) and finished up with a glass of the Wostyntje Mustard Ale (24). It's pretty good. I think I like weird beers. I was one of the only people that liked that Hitachino ricey stuff when it was on tap.

I really don't want to go to Rich O's tonight. Which of course means that I'm probably going to Rich O's tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might, I wish I was able to fucking write.

And not just any old drivel. I wish I was able to write something - something good. Something profound and memorable and thought-provoking.

Something worthy of the thoughts that went through my head tonight.

I sat, and I watched the door, and I experienced hope.

Not terror. Not paranoia. Not disgust. Not even apathy.

Nope. I experienced hope of all things.

It doesn't matter that my hope was misdirected, unwarranted, ill-conceived, baseless, unreal, unfounded, inordinate, and maybe even stupid. It doesn't matter that the thing that I hoped for did not happen.

None of that matters.

What matters, what fucking matters, is that I'm still capable of feeling hope at all.

I would not have thought it was possible.

I am not, as it turns out, completely dead inside. I am not, contrary to popular belief, incapable of having a single solitary optimistic thought. I am not, no matter what else you might have read or heard or deduced or even simply felt, I am not a lost cause.

So, please, don't give up on me. Don't write me off. Don't turn away. Certainly, don't run away.

Because if I, after everything I've been through - if I can still experience hope, then anything is possible.

It's fucking amazing.

I wish I could write words to describe it.

I wish I may, I wish I might.

I wish, now more than ever before since all this shit started, I wish I could write.

I don't really have much to say. I just kinda want to write something while I wait for my shirt to dewrinkle in the dryer.

Insomnia has taken over my life. It's cost me a day and a half of vacation since yesterday afternoon, and I'm pissed about that because they're my last vacation days until May. Now all I've got left is a half day, and what am I supposed to do with that?

This morning I went in to see my doctor about my inability to sleep. He of course prescribed me some pills that will supposedly help me to relax. I don't think I'm going to bother getting the prescription filled though. I don't want to medicate my problems away.

That's beer's job.

Anyway, I managed to solve one of the mysteries that's been plaguing me for a couple of days. One of my friends had the audacity to (a) live in Phoenix and (b) send me an anonymous message. So I freaked out a little, but that mystery has, like I said, been solved.

The other mystery may remain unsolved for a while, but you never know. Once my shirt dewrinkles I'm going to go do a little sleuthing.

One simple, stupid thing. That's all I asked her for. That's all I'd ever asked her for. I asked her to not leave, again, without giving me a chance to say goodbye. Again.

I asked, and she agreed.

I reminded her over the phone the next day, and she agreed. Again.

I actually fucking believed her.

That was the last time I ever spoke to her, heard her voice. Two days later she was gone. Again. There was no goodbye. Again.

Was she fucking with me all along? Did she ever have any intention of granting me that one simple thing that would have lifted my spirits to heights I'd been unable to even imagine a week earlier? Was it a conscious decision? Was she laughing at me the entire time?

When she planned out her trip, did she specifically write Crush Dave. Again. on her calendar and circle the date? Did she look forward to that day when I'd realize what had happened, even more than she looked forward to seeing her friends and family, and visiting her old hangouts? Is her only regret that she couldn't be there to see me finally crumble? To shit on me one last time?

That was the first thing I ever asked of her. I thought it would also be the last thing, but it wasn't.

The last thing was six months later, when she showed up. Again. I ran out the door, and I sent her a text message, asking her to leave me alone.

Because I'm on this poll again over at Ella's journal, I figured that I'd post some pictures.

I also owe you an evil update.

So I'll kill both birds with one stone.

I'm all efficient and shit.

Tonight I was downstairs making a little practice video for myself, and when I was finish with that, I took advantage of the camera and the lighting to check out my evilness.

I guess I'll keep it for a while longer. It's still got some filling in to do.

These are naught but echoes of screams from long ago. There is no need for concern. I've simply paused to listen to them one last time before they fade away forever.

I think.

...to be allergic to sleep?

I wonder, what did she see when her eyes met mine, that night last Spring?

It was only for a second, a half a second maybe. She'd walked in the door, her eyes scanned the room, and her eyes met mine.

When, at that moment, when she looked into my eyes for the first time in months, did she see anything?

Did she see that I was holding my breath? That I was fighting back tears? That my heart had stopped beating? Did she see the horrible truth that I myself had only realized two seconds earlier?

Did it frighten her? Is that why she let her gaze continue sweeping the room, like I wasn't even there? Is that why she sought out and greeted those people that had spent the past six months making fun of her, while I sat stunned both by my own reaction to her presence and by her lack of reaction to mine?

Did she see something in my eyes? Did it frighten her?

Because I saw nothing in hers, and that frightened the fuck out of me.