Hit the snooze, hit the snooze, hit the snooze.

Okay, fine. Get up, take a shower. Check email. Nothing.

Go to work.

Boring, boring boring, boring, Hey, it's AlliDay!

Boring, boring.

Lunch time, finally. Hi, AlliGirl!

Lunch is over.

Bye, AlliGirl!

Boring, boring, boring, boring.

Yay! I'm off work until Tuesday! Yay!

Nap time.

Hit the snooze, hit the snooze.

Okay, fine. Get up, take a shower. Check email. Nothing.

Go to Rich O's.

Boring, boring.

LaptopGirl is here!

Yay!

She smiled at me!

Yay!

LaptopGirl is gone now.

Boo!

Boring, boring, boring, boring.

TremensGirl is hot.

Boring, boring, boring.

Go home.

Check email. Hey, there's one from HatGirl!

Yay!

Compose a drunken reponse to HatGirl.

Is it too much?

Nope, it's safe. Send it.

Write a stupid entry.

Happy Birthday to RockGirl!

If her stupid work phone had voicemail, I was going to leave a happy birthday song there.

But, noooooooo, it's a phone from the 1950s or something - before voicemail was invented.

Anyway, Happy Birthday!

Yay for RockGirl!

I've really strayed from the original purpose of this blog.

It was supposed to be for me. Hell, I was supposed to be the only person who ever read it. I certainly expected that would be the case, back when I started this thing in late 2003.

Well, it didn't work out that way. Readers have come, and a shitload of readers have gone, but I bet I still get a hundred or so a day, between the two sites where this blog is presented. Not too bad, since I'm not a hot girl. I'm kinda the opposite of a hot girl, I'd say. And most would agree.

A hundred people is about ninety-nine too many, I often think.

Because I keep finding that I'm writing for someone else instead of for myself. Or, as is more often the case lately, I find myself not writing, lest the wrong person read my words.

I used to like it, the thought that others would read, and even enjoy, this crap. It was an ego boost that came at a time when I didn't even know I had an ego.

But then something started happening. And I started using this venue as an outlet to say the things that I was unwilling or unable to say in person. I started writing entries with particular readers in mind.

I started writing entries to certain people. I did that for a long time.

And now, I'm doing it again.

Because I can't say certain things in person. The timing is wrong. Or the vibes I'm getting feel wrong. Or the Moon is in the wrong phase. Or the opportunities are just so rare that I don't want to screw them up by piling my bullshit onto someone who doesn't expect it or need it or want it.

Bullshit like, sometimes I'm just so fucking happy that I forget to be sad. I forget that I want more, and that I will always want more, but that most of all I just want the air to be cleared. I want to somehow convey that I am not satisfied with the way things are, but that neither am I at all ungrateful for this series of miracles by which I've been blessed.

I forget to be sad, and then I sit here alone late at night, and it all comes rushing back to me, and I write drivel like that last paragraph.

And the really funny thing is, I don't think that my intended audience reads me anymore. I don't blame them at all.

Monday, as I mentioned before, I went to Rich O's after work. I got a pizza to go.

What I didn't mention before was that I got a special pizza. Or at least a special pizza box.

The kitchen staff, led by MisunderstoodGirl, all signed the thing.

Then a bunch of other people who were standing around signed the thing.

You can click this image to see a large version.

I've got a pretty strange feeling running through me right now.

It's kind of like I'm not alone.

Weird, but cool.

I went to Rich O's after work today. More out of habit than any particular desire to observe Pizza Day or have a beer. But it's cool that I went in, because after a few sips of Upland Wheat (126), I saw that NABC had tapped their Old Lightning Rod a couple of days early. I traded the rest of my Upland for a pint of the Old Lightning Rod (250) and it was very good as always.

---

Today I counted up the vacation days that I've used since May, when our fiscal year started. I've still got a buttload of days left to take. To help rectify this situation, I'm taking this Thursday and Friday off. So, because Monday is a company holiday, I'll get a five-day weekend. What will I do with this five-day weekend? Probably not a damn thing.

I need to take a week off sometime this Spring and go somewhere. Las Vegas is my obvious first choice, but I'm also thinking about maybe going up to Seattle instead. I haven't been there since 2002, and I find myself thinking about that place, and those people, quite often.

---

Oh yeah, this morning it snowed like a motherfucker for about an hour. Flakes the size of 50-cent pieces. It was quite pretty, and I got a little excited that maybe it would accumulate. But alas, it melted on contact with the ground. I'm not a huge fan of snow, but I detest cold weather, and snow at least makes it bearable for me. They're saying that it might snow here Thursday, but I suspect that's just a ploy to get us to watch the evening news.

---

Funny, I thought I'd have more to write about tonight.

Fine, I'll admit it.

I'm a little bit miffed right now.

At myself.

For managing to be surprised at what's shown itself to be an unvarying pattern.

Maybe I should have this fable tattooed onto my chest.

I wish I could describe what it's like for me.

I wish I had the words to describe it with any accuracy, and I wish I had the balls to describe it with any clarity.

It would be a great entry. I just know it would.

I imagine, sometimes, that it's like being born. For your entire existence, you've been in the dark. Muffled sounds and random pressures and chaotic movements, they are all you know. They are your world.

And then, suddenly, there's light.

There. That single moment, that single instant of time when your retinas register light for the first time. A heretofore unsuspected sense awakens within you. You become more than you were before. You can see.

I have moments like that, every now and then.

Every time, it's like the first time.

I am born during moments like that.

The rest of the time, I wait.

To be born again.

I didn't need to be tried, convicted, and sentenced, at a trial I didn't even know was happening, with a so-called friend as the judge and the jury.

So much would be different, right now, if that trial had never happened. Or if I'd had a chance to defend myself.

For one thing, I'd still have my friend.

For another thing, I wouldn't be sitting here with a million questions, none with answers, all striving to distract me.

For another thing, I wouldn't feel like I was cheating myself, by not paying complete attention to what's really important in my life.

I don't need a fucking distraction, but that's what I've got. Even now, sitting in this chair, I find myself distracted. Wondering why.

It must be nice, I think, to be able to flip a switch and turn feelings off. It must be nice, I'm sure, to be able to yank on a chain and watch emotions swirl down a drain. It must be nice, I bet, to be able to close a door and seal yourself off from happy memories of one of the few people who actually gives a shit about you.

I didn't need this shit. And I didn't need you. So why, I wonder, why do I need you now?

The timing is terrible.

This is something I've been thinking about for a while. Months, even. I've known that it was a subject worthy of an entry, but I just haven't been able to figure out how to tackle it.

This will be my final attempt. I'll either post whatever I come up with, or I'll forget the idea entirely.

Maybe some things just aren't meant to be entry topics.

Anyway, here goes.

---

Imagine a couple of people in a bar at 6:00. Go ahead and imagine a guy and a girl, if you would. It will make things easier.

In your mind, please also position the guy and the girl so that they're in each other's lines of sight. But they're not sitting together. Maybe they're at opposite ends of the room. But they can still see each other.

They each order a beer. Maybe an Upland Wheat for him, and a Guinness for her. Something fairly tame for each of them, but not the same beer. That would give them something in common, and that would just complicate things.

The guy sees the girl drinking her Guinness, and he wonders about her. He wonders if she knows that Guinness has one of the lowest alcohol percentages around, so maybe that's why she's drinking it. Maybe she has to work in the morning, so she's taking it easy. Or maybe she genuinely likes the taste of Guinness. Or maybe it's the only "exotic" beer that she's heard of, and she's a little afraid to try anything more adventurous. Or maybe she's intrigued by the Guinness Advertisements she's seen. Or maybe she's planning to be in the bar for a long time, so she's pacing herself. Or maybe she's going somewhere else later, and this beer is just something to drink while she waits for her friends to come and get her.

Across the room, the girl sees the guy, too. She sees him drinking his beer at 6:00, and she decides that he is an alcoholic and that she's repulsed by him.

At 7:00, the guy drains the last of his beer and moves behind the bar. His shift is starting. He'd heard that there might be something wrong with the Upland, but it tasted fine to him.

The girl pays her tab, barely concealing the look of disgust on her face. She wonders how the bar owner could have such an obvious alcoholic working for him. Then she decides that it's because the owner is an alcoholic, too.

---

Another venue this time. Let's make it a fancy restaurant. Different guy, different girl. They've been dating for a long time. They're having dinner.

Once the waiter has taken their orders, he leaves, and they sit in silence.

The guy looks at the girl, and he wonders why she's so quiet. He wonders if she's angry at him. Or maybe she's had a bad time at work. Or maybe she's contemplating an affair, or maybe already having one. He wonders if she's going to break up with him. He wonders why. He wonders how she'll answer him, if he ever gets around to asking. He wonders if he's just being paranoid - if maybe her silence has nothing to do with him. He replays the last several weeks in his head, trying to figure out if there's a problem or not. He wants tonight to be perfect, and he nervously taps his jacket pocket.

The girl looks at the guy, and decides that his silence is because he's cheating on her with that pretty blonde at his work, and that she hates him.

Finally, the guy breaks the silence. "Are you okay?" he asks. "You seem really quiet tonight."

"I'm fine," she answers. "There just wasn't anything to say."

"Okay," the guy says. He stands up shakily.

"Maybe this will give us something to talk about," he offers. Visibly shaking, he lowers himself to one knee and brings the box from his pocket.

"Sweetie," he croaks. "You are the love of my life. And I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you've made me these past several months. Will you marry me?"

The girl is shocked.

"Why don't you ask your other girlfriend to marry you?" she demands.

And she gets up and walks out.

---

The moral of each of these stories is that people who jump to conclusions suck.

The other moral is that people who cling their wrong conclusions suck hard.