I'm just trying something here. I got a new webcam.

I don't care what weather.gov says, it's cold tonight. Too cold to comfortably enjoy sitting on my swing with this Marzen (3779), that's for sure.

Maybe it would have been better if I'd put some more clothes on, but it's June. I will not get all layered-up in June in Southern Indiana.

But the cold isn't why I came back in to the house. Nope, I came back into the house because there are fucking stobor outside.

The first one, I thought maybe it was a cat. It was way too dark to see anything more than an indistinct blob of darkness of indeterminate size. Like the last time, I asked the hopeful, "Kitty kitty?" But, like the last time, it wasn't no kitty. It was clearly a stobor which ran into my garage and started tearing into the crap piled therein.

I sat and listened to it, trying to gauge its size from the racket it was making. I was estimating somewhere between a racoon and a Tyrannosaurus Rex, when I heard another stobor. Out in the front yard, as near as I could tell.

Imagine that you take an animal that almost never makes a sound. A rabbit perhaps, or maybe an opposum. Now, imagine doing something horrible to that animal. Step on it. Skin it alive. Fuck it up the ass. Something painful enough to cause that normally quiet animal to make the most terrible sound in the universe.

That's what that second stobor sounded like.

But seriously, if you really thought about fucking that poor animal up the ass, then please seek professional help. Because that's just sick.

Anyway, it must have been a mating call or a challenge or something, because the stobor in my garage answered almost immediately with that same awful wailing sound. And then I saw it, or rather its accompanying blob of darkness of indeterminite size, exit my garage and zoom into my front yard.

You know what's worse than the most terrible sound in the universe? Well, I'll tell you. It's two sources of that sound, joined together in an unholy harmony.

And that's the next sound that invaded my ears, as the two stobor began to mate or fight with each other.

Whatever it was they were doing, I didn't care. I took that opportunity to retreat into my house.

I'm actually shaking now.

So the other day I was asked to provide an example of my weirdness. I provided an example at that time, and I wrote about it here.

And now, at great risk to my already fragile reputation, I will now give another example of my weirdness.

This was Wednesday night. I got this really stupid fantasy in my head. I was sitting out on my swing, enjoying a lovely Marzen (3579), and I thought that my phone might ring. Never mind that it was very late at night - it was my really stupid fantasy, and so the time was pretty much irrelevant.

Anyway, my phone never rang. So I got more and more antsy about it, and I did something stupid.

I sent an email.

Surely, I thought, Surely now my phone will ring to either indicate an incoming email or a text message or a phone call.

But alas, my phone sat silent beside me on my swing. Mocking me with its silence. My phone is so mean sometimes.

Then, at about 2:30 in the morning, I began to feel tired. I needed to go into my house and get some sleep, but I still had that really stupid fantasy in my head. And in that really stupid fantasy, see, I was outside when my phone rang. So, I figured, if I went inside my house, I'd be giving up on my really stupid fantasy.

Well, I didn't want to give up on the thing. It was a nice really stupid fantasy. I didn't want to go into my house and go to bed and give up on it.

So, brilliant tactician that I am, I went and got my tent and my sleeping bag and my pillow. I set up camp in my backyard, and I slept out there.

Weird, right?

But I never gave up on my really stupid fantasy. Because I'm all stubborn and shit.

Okay, so it wasn't so much a limb that fell Tuesday morning. It was more like half the tree fell.

A crappy picture of how the stupid thing ended up straddling the property line.

Another picture, taken from my neighbor's driveway.

This thing defied all attempts to locate a good shooting position.

Here we see what I meant when I said it wasn't a limb that fell. It was more like the tree split apart at the crotch. Like a whore in a hurry.

Since this break is about 30 feet in the air, I can't tell if attaching a rope and yanking with my truck will be good enough. It looks pretty dubious.

I suppose I'm not exactly feeling my best right now.

Physically, I'm still weak from this stupid sinus infection. Mentally, I'm feeling just a little bit lost. Like I'm not sure what to do for the next several days.

It's not that I won't be able to find some way to pass the time, perhaps even enjoy the time, but I don't think I'll really be able to look forward to anything. So even simple planning seems like a waste of effort.

I suppose I could just hole-up here at home. Shoot some pool, watch some movies. Things like that used to be enough for me, but that was a long time ago. Another life ago.

---

Oh yeah, I had a big-ass fucking tree limb fall this morning. This one grazed the side of my detached garage, and may have damaged my fence. The big problem with this limb is that it's still partly attached to the tree - about 30 feet up. So I don't know what I'm going to do. I already tried closing my eyes and counting to ten, but the damn thing was still there when I looked again.

Stupid non-imaginary limb.

I'll take some pictures of it tomorrow, if I remember, and it's not raining.

If I can get the limb on the ground, then I can cut it up or maybe just drag it into the woods. I think I'll try to attach a rope to it, then pull it free with my truck. It might work.

---

I was wondering about something today. Wondering if something cool might happen. Well, it didn't happen, but that's okay. It was a long shot.

It would have been really cool, though.

Okay, so in what may go down in history as The Most Ironic Thing Ever In The History Of Everything, tonight LaptopGirl took a step toward knowingly being my new muse, when she asked me why I'm not writing in my blog.

So much for secret number two.

I'll admit, I could certainly use a muse. I can't seem to find any motivation on my own. So I guess I should take whatever help and/or encouragement I can get.

But c'mon, LaptopGirl?

Seriously?

Okay, fine.

The other night, Saturday night if you desire any sort of precision, LaptopGirl seemed to take great umbrage at my near-constant use of the word "weirdo" to describe myself. I don't think it was because she really disagreed, on principle, with my use of that word - I think her outrage was a two-parter.

Part the First: She wanted to understand just what the fuck I mean when I write that I am weird.

Part the Second: I'm pretty sure that LaptopGirl feels that she has staked a claim for herself onto weirdness, and she isn't sure that I'm worthy of that label.

Anyway.

Questions questions questions.

What do I mean when I say that I'm weird?

Can I provide an example of my so-called weirdness?

Why am I weird?

Answers answers.

I think that when I say I'm weird, what I really mean is that I'm in a weird mood. My weirdness is certainly nothing like the weirdness which I'm constantly accusing certain people at Rich O's of displaying. Those people suck, while I myself am awesome.

Sure. Saturday night I felt that being at Rich O's was the stupidest thing that had ever been stupid. But, I also did not want to miss LaptopGirl if she were to show up. So my compromise was that I avoided everyone, sat in the parking lot for most of the night actually, until LaptopGirl showed up.

Now, that third question was a bit of a lit fuse, or so it seemed at first. When LaptopGirl asked me that question, everyone within 20 feet of us immediately stopped their conversations. I think they all held their breath. I know I held mine. Everyone looked at me, not even bothering with false apathy, to see what my answer would be.

Would it be, fucking finally, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Or would it be a cop-out?

So I looked into LaptopGirl's eyes, as well as I could, considering the distance between us and the distortions caused by the lenses of our glasses. I looked into her eyes as deeply as I could, being very careful not to drown, and what I saw was that it wasn't a serious question.

She was neither looking for, nor expecting, a serious answer. The serious answer.

So I didn't provide that serious answer.

It was a cop-out. Maybe.

Okay, so now I've written something in my blog. Time for bed.

I guess I still don't feel like writing anything just yet, so here is a picture of a squirrel peeking out from a tree in my backyard.

Uh oh, I'm in a weird mood again. Usually that means that I'm about to start spouting drivel, but maybe not this time.

Okay, maybe just a little.

Most of the time, I can honestly say that I'm not ashamed of anything that I feel, and therefore write. Usually, I know that I don't have a choice, and that's enough to assuage any embarrassment or shame. But sometimes, sometimes like tonight, I find myself very uncomfortable inside my own skin.

Tonight, I am afraid.

I don't like it, and I don't have a choice, and I'd like to be able to wish this feeling away to make room for those pleasant feelings that are right now cowering inside me. But I think I'm going to have to deal with this fear. I don't think it's going to go away.

Not this time.

I think that, this time, I'm going to have to face my fear or else I'm going to have to run from it.

If only it were that simple. If only those choices weren't both so selfish.

There is a third choice.

Ignore my fear, and be destroyed.