I'll probably give this some major tweaking, but it took so damn long to render that I don't feel like messing with it anymore tonight.

Now this is one of those entries that will probably just confuse people. Oh well, can't be helped.

The good news is that I can stop holding my breath.

The bad news is that the message was this:

Please tell your girlfriend to stop calling me.

I guess I'll find out more later, but right now, based on what I do know, I'm furious.

I'm actually so pissed off that I'm going to stop writing now. I'm sure I'd say something that I'd later regret.

(This entry makes reference to the journalspace version of my 'blog. JS has this dealy where they show a graph of how many visitors you have on any given day. That's the green bar I'm talking about.)

It's all Nat's fault.

Yesterday, she sent zillions of her readers over here. My ranking probably jumped 500 places in one day. Like from 3000th place to 2500th or so.

It was kind of neat, seeing that green bar that indicates the number of visitors stretch all the way across the screen. I actually felt like a real 'blogger for a while.

But today, I'm back to normal.

All those pinguicularians, and none of them came back?

Talk about a buzz killer.

I've seen the same thing happening at barenada.com, too. Readers are leaving the building, and starting to picket outside. They carry signs demanding bring back the pain! and we want misery! They chant lap top GIRL! lap top GIRL! you miss HER! write about THAT! or we'll LEAVE!

But those are my long-term readers. Most of them have never known me when I wasn't tormented. They are finding out just how boring I can be. They know that I can do better, and that's why they march outside instead of simply going home. They know that I could snap, any minute now, and start rambling. Just like the good old days.

The new people, the pinguicularians - they know nothing of that. Nat tells them to come over here, and they do. Then they ask themselves, "Why the fuck should I read this bozo? He's fucking boring!"

And I am. And I know it. What I don't know is if it's temporary or not. What I don't know is, if it ends, how it will end.

See me tomorrow, I just may have a story to tell. I'll at least be able to stop holding my breath, and maybe that'll be worth writing about.

I have no idea what's going on.

Not really cabin fever I guess. More like Southern Indiana fever.

Whatever it you want to call it, I've got it. Bad.

I think I'm just looking forward to my Vegas trip, but that's not for another eight weeks.

So I want to go somewhere this weekend. Somewhere close enough to drive there on Saturday, spend the night, and drive back Sunday.

Indianapolis? Columbus? Nashville? St. Louis?

I didn't list Cincinnati because I just went there this past Summer.

All I really know for sure is that I have zero desire to spend (waste) yet another weekend here.

I probably won't go anywhere though. What if an actual girl came into Rich O's and I missed it?

When you decide that it would be a good idea to throw your cell phone into the woods, turn the ringer all the way up first.

This way, when you're stumbling around in the morning trying to find it, you can just call the cursed thing from your home phone, and listen for the ring.

Just remember:

In a meeting = Vibrate good
In the woods = Vibrate bad

Feel free to print this out and keep a copy with you at all times.

I sent this in a e-mail to a fellow tortured soul, and then realized that I liked it.

Sleep is better than real life, because at least you can wake up when you have a bad dream.

The question is, can I hold my breath until Thursday?

Somebody did it again.

They went to google and typed "eating human testicles" into the search box.

This is actually the second time this has happened since I started tracking this shit.

I don't know what's more disturbing; that somebody typed it in, or that I'm listed fourth in the results.

Imagine, if you will, a dog.

Every day the dog's master comes home from work and kicks the dog, and the dog yelps with pain.

Is it so hard to believe that, no matter how much the dog loves its master, no matter how much it longs to be with its master, is it so hard to believe that one day the dog will run and hide when it hears that doorknob rattling?