I would climb onto her lap, and rest my head against her chest.

She would wrap her arms around me, and she would hum gentle melodies.

And she would rock me gently, and I would feel safe enough to let tears flow from me like a river.

And she would make everything all better.

In retrospect, it was still too much too soon. But I went to Rich O's after work. My excuse was that it was pizza night, and I'd skipped last Monday, so if I didn't have pizza tonight, I might die or something.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't particularly want to die right now.

Also, is pizza-withdrawal a real affliction?

Anyway, there's some new dork working there. I never saw him before in my life, and when I sat in the throne, he came up and asked me if I wanted a beer.

My first inclination was to say, "No thanks. I'm flattered, but I'm straight."

But then I saw that he was carrying an official Rich O's notepad, so I went ahead and ordered an NABC Jasmine (110).

Then people left me alone for the most part, except this one dude who asked me some stupid question that didn't really need an answer.

Then MisunderstoodGirl sat and talked to me for a while about irrelevant things, and that was cool because I was really freaking out that people would want to get relevant on me.

Then ArtGirl came in and I got to talk to her for the next hour or so. We played musical chairs. It was fun.

Then I had another Jasmine (120) even though it was getting pretty late and therefore scary for me to be there.

Then TremensGirl came in and said more words to me in five minutes than she's said to me in the previous four months. So that was nice.

Then I found myself rambling on and on to MusicalYuppieDude about relevant things, so I knew it was time for me to leave. Luckily, my pizza was ready by then, so I came home.

Too soon. I knew that going in, but I still went. That place has a very annoying pull on me sometimes.

I'll admit, there was some juggling that took place to make LaptopGirl's recommendation come out as my 500th beer rating.

See, there was a chance that we were going to rate it together. But those opportunities kept slipping by. Eventually, I think, we each realized that she has more important things to worry about than my stupid beer ratings.

But the nice thing is that there's plenty of swill in the world, so there will be other opportunities for a joint-rating.

Anyway, here are the last four official beer ratings, beginning with my swill consultant's official recommendation for my 500th rating:

Sapporo Premium

(can) Looks like fizzy urine. Decent white head that seemed to last. Aroma of wet grass - slightly rotten. Thin mouthfeel. Flavor is smooth and a little creamy. Just the slightest hoppy finish. A typical pale lager, neither better nor worse than the rest. Typical lager swill.

Thirsty Dog Siberian Night

(bottle) Black, with a thin brown head. Aroma was surprising - it smelled like tires. Medium sticky mouthfeel. Flavor of bitter chocolate, roasted malts, and licorice. The finish was extremely well balanced - it just slid down my throat. Pretty damn good.

Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier

(draft) Hazy light brown - darker than others in this style. Aroma standard for the style, bananas along with cloves and other subtle spices. The flavor was subdued and fleeting. A little more yeasty than I was expecting. Very good, though.

Stone Bitter Chocolate Oatmeal Stout

(bottle) Black with a thin brown head that faded quickly. Aroma was milder than I was expecting - chocolate and malts. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor was malts and chocolate, but it seemed tame. The finish was very strong chocolate, almost too strong. It was only after my taste buds had been beaten into submission that I was able to really appreciate the finish. Lingering and coating dark chocolate. A very damn good beer. I want to try this on tap, but I'm not holding my breath for that.

At first, and for a long time afterwards, I thought of it as a bubble. Like one blown from a plastic wand held in a child's hand. So impossibly beautiful, yet so very fragile.

Look, but don't touch. Never, ever touch, lest that shimmering beauty be destroyed in an instant by my careless poke.

How was I to have known?

That bubble, one September night, it suddenly changed into something else. It grew even as I shrank. It moved even as I stood still, transfixed. Mesmerized by what was happening. Fearful, yet unable and unwilling to flee.

That bubble, it encased me.

It still encases me. It protects me and it traps me at the same time.

It was never a bubble.

It was, is, my world.

It took me a long time to see the truth.

I belong here.

1. Sleep 10 hours.
2. Play Crysis for a while.
3. Go to Polly's Freeze for lunch.
4. Drive around for a couple of hours.
5. Sit in garage.
6. Shoot pool.
7. Sit on swing.
8. Glare at phone.

I seem to have lost the ability to take naps. I don't really count what happened Friday evening - that wasn't so much a nap as it was a collapse.

For the last week or two or three - it's all a blur, I've settled onto my couch after work, called for my cat Buddy (who always takes a nap with me) and waited for sleep that never comes. Sleep does not come to me, only thoughts of drowning.

This was again the case yesterday, after I got home from Jeffersonville. I was as tired as I can ever remember being, but sleep was beyond me. So, I went to my sister's party earlier than I'd expected.

It was a pleasant enough event. Crowds are never my thing, though. Everybody knows that. Usually I'll sit at these things and I'll talk to one or two people exclusively for hours. Last night that didn't seem to be an option. Dina was busy being hostess with the mostest. BadPickleGirl was not coming, despite my calling her and pretty much begging her to do so. SpoonsGirl was in a crappy mood, and Eric and Teri were AWOL.

So I was left with the crowd. All good people, certainly. But they're Dina's people, not mine.

I lost count of how many times I caught myself wondering if LaptopGirl would have joined me, had I specifically invited her. My estimate is that I wondered that about a million times.

Anyway, to drink I had a couple bottles of Spezial (1886) and a bottle of Newcastle (10396). I sat with the crowd and tried to not seem like too much of a weirdo. I petted the cat, a lot. I glared at my phone, a lot.

At one point I noticed that my table had become besieged by women. All that estrogen. I began to feel a strange urge to ask for directions and make doilies, so I moved to their new tiki bar and joined the guys. There, of course, everyone talked about hunting.

I came home at 10:00 or so. I sat on my swing and had a yummy Marzen (4585). And I glared at my phone, a lot.

It's hard for me, sometimes, to think about things not directly related to myself. To remember those times which, were I a much lesser man, I might deem irrelevant.

But I am not a lesser man. And these particular memories are effortless. All I have to do is relax, for just a second. I absolutely remember that terrible morning, which followed that terrible night. I remember that phone call. I remember the looks on everyone's faces once I got to my sister's house. I remember the days and weeks that followed. I remember the shock and the disbelief that somehow still manage to crush me whenever I find myself distracted.

I think I'm sad about my own petty problems of lost loves?

My problems are the ones that are irrelevant. Just ask my sister. She fucking knows what's relevant.

I have his picture on my refrigerator. Cory and his sister and his brother. Every time I get something to drink, I see his face. Every single time.

It's been almost a year now.

Plans quickly changed, as they are so often wont to do.

Instead of HatGirl and I going to look at diamonds then having lunch, It ended up being HatGirl and LuckyFucker going to look at diamonds, then joining me for lunch. I was still invited to go to the diamond thing, but I didn't want to feel like a third wheel all day long.

So, suddenly finding myself with an extra hour to kill, I went to Sportstime. It had been a week since I'd been to the NABC complex, and I was hopeful that Marzen might finally be back on tap.

But nooooooo!

So instead I had myself a nice Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (2554) and I talked to MisunderstoodGirl as she scurried between the kitchen and her assigned tables.

Then I went over to Buckhead in Jeffersonville. Actually, first I poked my head into the Hooters there to see if my cousin Jeff was there. He wasn't, so I went to Buckhead then.

HatGirl and LuckyFucker were, of course, late in arriving. I guess I'm used to that, and this time it wasn't their fault. A diamond emergency made them late.

Once they arrived, we sat out on the deck and ordered lunch. For some reason, even though there were about 10 open tables out there, the hostess sat us right next to the only other occupied table. It was really strange. It was also quite annoying, and HatGirl especially didn't like it. So we ended up picking up our shit and moving inside.

That HatGirl is so anti-social sometimes. That's why we get along so well I guess.

And one of the waitresses kept giving me the stink-eye. Probably one of MixedSignalGirl's friends. (About your height, Miss. Maybe about 32 years old. With long dark hair in a pony tail. She kinda looked familiar.)

Oh yeah, with my lunch I had a Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier (24). I would have had a Paulaner, but they were out, the fuckers.

Then once lunch was over I stuck my head back into Hooters. Jeff was there this time, but he was surrounded by a bunch of high-fiving white guys, so I quickly said hello and then came home.

I get to go see HatGirl now and look at diamonds and maybe have lunch!

Yay!

This stupid cursor keeps blinking at me, taunting me. Daring me to write something. When I press the keys, the letters appear, and the blinking stops. Until I stop pressing keys, then it starts again.

Each blink marks another wasted second. Another lost moment in which I could have written something, but didn't. Another moment that I'll never get back.

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I really have a bad case of cabin fever right now. I've got to get out of this house, but I don't seem to be able to find the motivation to leave. It's like, I want to be somewhere else, but I don't want the hassle of actually going. And I can't decide where I want to be.

Actually, that's not right. I know exactly where I want to be. But that's not an option. And so I'm faced with a million lesser choices.

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Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

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Maybe after I take a shower I'll be more motivated.