I'm in such a weird mood tonight. Even for me.

---

I remember the last time I was in this particular mood. It was on a nice night that should have been a horrible night. I'm pretty sure, looking back, that I was in total denial. I wrote this, back then:

My mind is aswarm with thoughts, my heart is teeming with feelings, all with their own agendas. Some will merge for a brief time, join forces in fierce battle against their enemies, swear allegiance to false alliances, but all the while only truly working toward their own vision of an idealized conclusion.

Others are adversaries from the start. Like dogs and cats, like Arabs and Jews, they are born into this war which began long ago and which will continue long after these individual skirmishes and battles and betrayals have become nothing more than forgotten footnotes in a history book.

And the individual combatants, so full of resolve and so possessed of purpose, they will become nothing more than patches of ground where the flowers, nourished by the blood-soaked earth, grow vibrant and strong.

And me?

Well, I'm Mars, The God of War.

---

Sometimes I catch myself thinking that it doesn't matter what I write. That it's how I write that I should be concerned with.

Like, if my words dance and flow with each other, then maybe the actual content won't matter that much.

I have so many things I want to say. Perhaps I should stop worrying about the words I use, and just let the feelings flow.

---

I saw a shooting star tonight, when I first ventured out onto my swing. I thought about someone who's having surgery in the near future, and I wished for her to not be afraid.

---

It's impossible to not notice, the way things have started to disintegrate lately. I mention those things, and I'm called crazy. But, to me, that's not an insult at all - I've been crazy for a very long time. I'm used to it. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I estimate that about 1% of the world will find this funny.

This idea was totally stolen from some guy at fark.com.

This was stuck at the bottom of some dick spam I got just now.

I wish I could write as eloquently as this.

She had grown up anyhow. Her brain void of all vainly tries to resolve. Imagine a short old man, towards him. He had thought that kundadhara would, like fire hidden in a well, we have, indeed, exposed the mighty armed hero, accompanied by those princes, her head was perilously near to his shoulder. One's eye is withdrawn from him, is really like food distributed at gaya's sacrifices. And they evening Henry sat alone by Rose, who had fallen and Rachel were closely associated, and they performed and learning and supported by all our warriors. Host's family with whom I had yet been able to vedic mantras become necessary for enabling persons as the travelers had supposed on seeing nearly passing his time in the nether region. Freed from.

Just beautiful.

Anyway.

Something good? I can only write about it if it's totally irrelevant.

Something bad? I can't write about those things at all.

Something medium? Sure, I can write about that. As long as I make it as boring as possible.

Ta-da!

Crap crapity crap!

So there I was, sitting on my swing and enjoying a lovely Malheur 10 (96). Counting lightning bugs, glaring at my phone, whistling for the neighbor's dog.

I was having a nice night, but then something horrible happened.

My fancy Gulden Draak glass, still almost full of yummy beer, suddenly leapt from its position between my thighs and flung itself onto the bricks at my feet.

Shattered, into a hundred pieces. The beer draining into the spaces between the bricks before I could even think of getting my tongue down there.

It all happened so fast.

Why? Why did my glass take its own life like that?

*sniff* I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

I wish I'd known that something was wrong.

I wish I'd known what danger signs to look for.

And I definitely fucking wish it had waited until it was empty, instead of taking ten ounces of yummy Malheur 10 with it.

Such a waste.

I'm not really sure where to start with this. I suppose that the beginning would be the logical place. But what was the beginning?

Maybe it was when I got onto the plane in Louisville, and this one hot chick (who's chair I once stole at Sluttopia) was sitting across the aisle from me.

Small world, as they say.

There was a another hot girl, this one sitting right next to me on the plane. But I couldn't tell how old she was so I didn't drool too much. She had very pretty legs, I couldn't help but notice. I mean, they were right there. Taunting me.

So then we landed in Atlanta. An uneventful flight, just the way I like my flights to be. We taxied to the gate and stopped about 50 feet short of it.

Did I mention that, about when we landed, it started storming like crazy? As in, like a motherfucker?

Well, it did. It was storming so badly that they shut the airport down. No take-offs. No landings. And, most relevant to me, none of those cute little airport gnomes on the tarmac to guide planes into the gates.

So, we sat. For about 45 minutes.

That sucked, by the way.

Welcome to Atlanta.

Not.

After we finally were allowed to dock at the gate, and after I finally got my baggage and my rental car, I drove 40 or so miles to Norcross, where my hotel was.

One interesting thing about driving for two hours in the pouring rain on an unfamiliar freeway amidst a million other cars - it's not as much fun as it seems like it would be. But I eventually found my hotel and checked-in. Then I threw my shit down and went back out into the rain.

I drove around for about three hours, looking for a Taco Mac. That's a chain down there that has, or so I'd heard, good food and great beer selections. Well, I ended up getting hopelessly lost, and I never did find a Taco Mac.

I did, however, find a Krystal, which was almost as good. I hadn't had Krystal since 1998 when I lived in Memphis.

My cheeseburgers were yummy.

My fries were kinda greasy.

Yeah.

So MixedSignalGirl got married yesterday.

That is all.

Well, fuck.

UPDATE: Never mind.

You ever find yourself at an airport with some time to kill, so you just sit around watching people?

Yeah, me too.

You ever see a guy in purple parachute-pants, a yellow wife-beater shirt, and the name "Adrian" tattooed on his arm, and say to yourself, "Self, there goes the gayest guy on Earth?"

Yeah, me too.

Then did you ever turn your head at a squishy/slurpy sound, and see a guy walking down through the airport with four dicks in his mouth? And then did you say to yourself, "Self, you were totally wrong before. That's the gayest guy on Earth, right there."

Yeah, me too.

---

Anyway, I'm back home now.

This sucks.

I don't want to go. But I also know that, once I get about halfway there, I'll start to get excited.

And then I'll probably have some fucking fun or something. It'll be like I'm being unfaithful to my regular life, seeing another life behind its back. And then I'll feel guilty about it.

Anyway, I guess I'm leaving now. Gotta stop and get some cash before I go to the airport.

I'll try to update this thing while I'm gone.

This sucks. I don't want to go. Alone.

I think it's cute that she falls asleep.

Tomorrow, I have to go to Atlanta.

I don't want to go.

They're making me.

Also, HatGirl is lucky.