I'm wondering.

Just because I feel like I could put the pieces of myself back together, does that mean that I should do it?

It really wasn't so bad, being rubble. Once I got over the indignity of it all. There's wasn't a whole lot of pressure to stand up when everyone around me could see that I simply wasn't capable of it. There was also very little fear that things could get worse - how could it? I was already laying on the ground.

Well, one way things could get worse would be if I rebuilt myself and then got knocked down again. For with every fall the debris left scattered across the ground gets smaller and smaller. Eventually, I fear, I'd be reduced to a pile of dust. Dust that the first strong wind would spirit away, leaving nothing behind to show that I'd ever even existed, let alone that I'd lived, and that I'd loved, and that I'd lost.

Sometime over the next few days I need to write something to close out this past year. I really should have done it weeks ago. But I didn't. I didn't because it's scary to reassemble a life that was never really that great to begin with. Am I supposed to be happy that I finally have a chance to go back to that bland, boring, fucking content person that I used to be before I met her?

I used to think that it was all I wanted - a chance to stop being sad. Now I've actually got that, and it isn't enough. Not even close. I don't want the sadness back. I could get it. Easily. I could just pop these corks that contain the pressures inside me and let everything wash over me again, further eroding the softest parts of myself and eventually leaving nothing but hard, stony chunks of hatred and bitterness behind.

I certainly don't want that.

What I want, what I want is to be someone I don't think I've never been. Someone I'm not even sure I'm capable of being. A person both capable of, and deserving of love. If I try to rebuild myself, I'll try to do it right. I'll try to make myself into the person I want to be, but I really don't know how to proceed. I don't even know where to start.

It should be an easy choice to make, but for some reason I'm really struggling with it. The chance for failure is very real to me, more real than it's ever been before. The pain of my last fall is mostly gone now, but the memory of it sends chills down my spine.

If I turn my gaze from the past I'll either have to look to the future, or shut my eyes forever.

Okay, this is a little embarrassing.

Since my electric company finally joined the 21st century last year, I can pay all of my bills via the Internet.

All of my bills but one.

My damn water company, with its miniscule monthly bill, still clings to the antiquated, dilapidated, and outdated bill-paying system of having to write an actual check and mail it to them.

This is beyond annoying. It's barely worth the effort - and the cost of the stamp - to make the stupid payment. So what I do is I send them a check for $100 every few months. Then I'll have several months in a row with a positive balance so I don't have to bother with them.

Every once in a while though, as in twice in the past six years, I procrastinate to the point where I get my water cut off.

The first time this happened was May 2003.

The second time was today.

Grrrrr.

I dug through my pile of mail, and the bill is for $14.66, and the due date was October 15th. Yes, my water company has cut me off for being three weeks late on a $14.66 bill.

So tomorrow I get to go to my sister's house and use her no-water-pressure-having shower, then go pay my water bill (I should pay in pennies, but I won't) before I go to work.

On the bridge, on the way to work this morning, I saw something funny.

Eight cars in a little mini-pileup. The first guy had been rear-ended, then the guy that did the rear-ending had been rear-ended himself, and so on until there were eight cars occupying the space of what five cars should take.

I thought this was funny because (a) even though no police or ambuli had arrived yet, everyone was out of their cars, meaning nobody got hurt seriously, and (b) I'm sure they all deserved it because THEY WERE FOLLOWING TOO FUCKING CLOSE! and (c) it just looked funny because each car had its nose buried under the ass of the car in front of it and (d) because I was in the right lane so I didn't get inconvenienced very much.

This is one of those times when I have nothing to say, so I'll just sit here and start typing, and hopefully I'll think of an actual topic before the Sun swells into a giant red ball and sears the Earth to a crisp.

...

...

Not working yet.

...

...

Well, shit.

This was a bad idea. I want to write something good to help counteract some of the crap I've written lately. But I'm having the same problem I've had for weeks now - A complete lack of, I don't know, whatever it is that I seem to need to be able to write anything worthwhile.

Passion? Sorrow? Longing? All bottled up. They can't hurt me, but neither can I use them for inspiration.

I read other journals and I see that it is possible to write entertaining entries about mundane everyday events, but I've never been able to do it. It is possible to write creative and engaging fiction, but I've never been able to do that either.

All I've got, all I've ever had, was this intermittent ability to write about pain and loss and longing and sorrow. Those things used to be what drove me to write. But that was okay, because they also backed up the words that I wrote. Now, now the words look hollow on my screen because they are hollow. Hollow words written by a hollow man.

I'm not complaining, really. Being hollow is in many ways preferable to being filled with the searing hot ashes of a thousand broken dreams.

See what I mean? Drivel. Pristine, unblemished drivel. There was only one dream.

I wonder if I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Can you get that from the stress of realizing that you're a complete moron and that everything you've done for almost two years has been the wrong thing?

I need a vacation. In one month I'll be in Las Vegas having one. But before that I've got to get through this fuckwad of a month.

I got through about half of this survey thingy I found on thomas-sister's journal, and I saw that there were still at least a zillion questions left, so I stopped.

What would be the point of it anyway? To make an entry just because it's been a while since I made one?

Firstly, that's a stupid reason to make an entry.

Secondly, I've accomplished the same thing without having to answer two zillion questions.

Got a call from RealTrainGirl today. She was wanting to know if I was going to Rich O's after work.

Told her yes, and told her why.

The other night the beautiful girl told me she'd looked for me at Rich O's recently and I wasn't there. Not that she went in to look for me, but that she'd looked for me while she happened to be there anyway. Huge difference, but not important - she had not only remembered me, she had actually looked for me.

Please note that I'm not using my standard line about what she wants and where she wants it. The fact that I'm not trying to be funny here should say a lot. It does to me at least.

So I told RealTrainGirl that I'd be at Rich O's every day after work until either The End Of Time, or until I got to see the beautiful girl again. Whichever comes first.

Then, on the way there after work, I remembered something that RealTrainGirl had told me Saturday night. Something that had been buried under all the nagging and bitching and gay jokes that came later. Something pretty damn cool.

* drumroll *

TrainGirl is visiting! She is in Indiana! No longer as far from Indiana as is possible whilst remaining in the lower 48 states!

Yay!

I pulled into the parking lot, got out of my truck, and there she was! Not in my truck, in the parking lot. TrainGirl!

Yay!

So in we went, and there I sat. Inside Rich O's. With two of my favorite people, for the first time in a very long time. It was almost like the good old days. Better than those days actually, because if it had really been like old times another person would have been there and I'd probably have been sad.

Anyway, I had myself a Ettaler Kloster Dunkel (50) and talked with the girls. There was another girl there with TrainGirl but I didn't catch her name. Seemed nice though.

(I want to say at this point that I really do miss MisunderstoodGirl and being glad to see TrainGirl does not diminish that in any way.)

At one point TrainGirl asked about you know who. I was struck by the fact that she knows basically nothing about what I've been going through since the last time we talked about it, last October. I had a pretty strong urge to drag her somewhere private and tell her everything, but that would have been rude to RealTrainGirl and WhatsHerName, so I didn't. Plus it might have required me to unbottle some things and I certainly didn't want to do that and risk ruining my good mood.

Let's see, I had a half-glass of Guinness (944), then my food was ready so I came home.

It was very cool to see TrainGirl again!

Yay!

I was asked a question today.

Sort of. Maybe. Not really though. It was more like the question was asked, and I just happened to be there, and I was reminded of the times I've asked myself this question. Maybe. Maybe I was asked the question and everyone else just happened to be there.

I used to think I that knew the answer to the question. I guess I still do know the answer, but - what was the question again?

Was the question what I think, or what I want to think, or what I feel like I should think, or what the questioner wants me to think?

I'm probably over-thinking this. I do that a lot. I think.

So what's my answer?

Depends on the question.

I think my answer is wrong anyway. Maybe.