I took a nap after work yesterday. My sleep schedule has been so messed up all week, I halfway expected to sleep all night long, and that would have been fine with me.

While I was napping I dreamed that my sister Dina had called from Rich O's.

When I woke up I had a voicemail from my sister Dina. She'd called from Rich O's.

Weird. There was more weirdness but I don't feel like writing about it.

So I went down there at about 8:30. It was of course extremely crowded. I stood at the end of the bar and talked to Dina and Kenny and MusicalHippyDude. I had myself an NABC Old Lightning Rod (60).

Dina and Kenny are getting married on May 13th, which is the same day as the brewerania sale that Rich O's has every year. Hopefully it's not also when DaveFest will be going on. Actually I think it'll be okay - the wedding will be in the afternoon.

After Dina and Kenny left I took the seat at the bar that Dina had vacated. Then DooRagGirl came in and right after that some shitheads left the sofa so we went over there.

I spent the bulk of the night talking with DooRagGirl and listening to one of the PBDs rattle on and on and on about things that he knows nothing about. Typical for him - it's the same guy that thinks opossums aren't mammals.

I had another Old Lightning Rod (80).

At one point the conversation took a slightly personal turn, and I found myself hoping that I'd shut up. I didn't have to shut up, as it turned out, because FutureDude got off work so DooRagGirl went over and sat with him and some of the PBDs.

I ordered another Old Lightning Rod, but I only drank half of it (90).

Oh yeah. I talked to EuchreGirl for a short while. I don't think she recognized me as EvilDave.

(response to message)

Will it stop when I reach 100 char. or should I have been counting??

You can always just send me an email. It's daveATbarenadaDOTcom but replace the obvious stuff. There's a link to the right with the same munged address.

(response to message)

No, it wasn't about you. The person it was about does not read my 'blog.

I wonder if she knows that I was just being polite.

I wonder if she realizes that she and I are a complete waste of time, and that we've already wasted enough time. Circling each other for over a year and a half, looking for openings, and finding none, and presenting none ourselves.

I don't know what she's looking for. I don't even know what I'm looking for. But I'm pretty sure that we won't find anything in each other. If there was anything there, we'd have found it by now.

I wonder if she knows that I was just being polite.

I wonder if I'd know if she was just being polite.

I've had lulls before. I don't know why this one is bothering me so much. I don't know why it's killing me that I can't hold a thought in my head long enough to even recognize it, let alone translate it into words.

I hate this. It's what I wanted, it's what I needed, it's what had to be done if I was going to survive, but I hate it. The fact that I had to kill a part of myself to get to this point, that makes me hate it even more.

This entry I've stolen from that other journal, where that part of me which I've murdered used to vent and ramble. This entry was dated September 13th, 2005. The beginning of the end. I liked this entry. I can almost remember what I felt when I wrote it.

Almost.

I had a pretty decent night tonight. One of those sweet sorrow nights that are only enjoyable in contrast. It won't last though. It never lasts.

While I'm sitting here typing this semi-random crap, my cellphone is sitting beside me, on this pullout extension doohickey. Every time a car passes outside a few stray photons from the headlights strike the phone and bounce up into my peripheral vision.

There went another car.

I should move the cursed phone. Or adjust the blinds. Or something. But I haven't done it yet, and I doubt that I will. Every time the light hits my eyes I get a brief spark of hope, quickly followed by a little pang of disappointment. It's like a two-second replay of the past year. Over and over. And over.

The phone's not flashing to indicate an incoming call. You're not calling.

See, this would be the perfect time. I'm not too sad. I'm not doing my anger experiment anymore. I just miss you. I think I could actually have a conversation. Get all this out in the open. Get some fucking closure maybe.

There went another car.

You're not going to call though. I asked you not to. Told you that you were hurting me. That wasn't quite right though. I've been hurting myself. You've just been the weapon of choice. I've been the one wielding it.

Man I'm in a strange mood.

There went another car.

Eventually, I'll have to leave it behind.

But not until I'm sure that it's really dead.

The difference between me and this entry is that, if you could figure out how to highlight me, there'd still be nothing there.

I am completely empty right now. I am a void.