I think that what's dragging me down is that everything is in transition. I suppose that saying I'm stuck in transition would be an oxymoron, but here I am anyway.

I mean, it was one thing to not know what happened. I got used to that, I suppose. It's been another thing to not know what's going to happen. I deal with that as well as I can, and I do what I can to maybe help steer things in a good direction.

But it's yet another thing to not have the slightest clue what's happening now. I get zero feedback. Am I doing a good job with this? A shitty job? Could I do this one thing a little more often, or this other thing a little less often? Should I just fucking stop altogether, or should I throw caution to the wind?

I look for signs all the time, but my world seems to have gone opaque. I know that things are happening, many of them as a direct result of my own actions and words. But I can't, for the life of me, tell what those things are, or whether they're good things or bad things.

Hmmm.

For the life of me

That's quite telling, right there. That's why this is dragging me down so much. Because the stakes are pretty high. I'm trying to save my own life here, and the patient is non-responsive.

I'm such a slacker when it comes to writing entries. This bothers me, but apparently it doesn't bother me enough to motivate me. Sometimes, I do get motivated, but then all this time has passed and nothing I write is contemporary anymore.

Anyway.

Some stuff happened, and now I have a date with NormalGirl. That's the girl from the comic yesterday. I was going to give her a different nickname, but NormalGirl fits my tongue better.

At least I'd like to think so.

That's bad. I shouldn't have written that. Oh, well, can't be helped now. It's not like I have some magic button, labeled backspace perhaps, with which I could erase stuff I've typed.

But my date with the hot girl isn't what I was going to write about. Nope, I was going to write more crap about this guitar and how I'm trying to learn to play make non-deadly noises with it.

I suppose that my strumming has gotten better. At least the upstrokes are better. That whole pointer that MusicalYuppieDude gave me, about turning my wrist when I strum upwards, has worked wonders. I still have a big problem with hitting extra strings when I strum. I can only hope that the frequency of these errors will diminish over time.

I also mentioned before that I may be tone deaf, because I couldn't seem to ever get the blasted contraption in tune. Well, I found this nifty guitar tuner program. It lets me pluck a string into the microphone on my computer, then it tells me how far off, and in which direction, I am from the desired note.

All of my strings were way the fuck off. But now they're not. I can tell this because the computer program tells me so, but I can also tell because of my cats.

See, before, when I'd strum the guitar, three things would happen. First, Happy would come running, hopeful that whatever animal torture ritual I was performing would leave edible body parts strewn around the room. Second, Nugget would haul ass down to the basement, for fear that he was about to become my next victim. Third, Buddy would ignore me, just like he always does when I do something interesting.

But now when I make noise with the guitar, all three cats ignore me.

Seriously, let me try to read a book or take a shit, and Buddy is all over me, but let me move and make noise and actually do something interesting, and he ignores me. What's up with that? Cats are weird.

My ability to count to four while strumming hasn't improved, but my ability to at least stick with a certain rhythm has gotten better. Not getting caught on a string when I strum has helped with that. So I can kinda fake it like I know how to count. So that's cool. Chicks dig guys who can count.

It's really amazing how much more fun and satisfying it is to strum a well-tuned guitar than it is to strum one that's badly out of tune. I estimate, in fact, that it's 833,241 times more fun. That's a lot.

The tips of every finger on my left hand are numb. I'm finding it difficult to type coherent words. This, I also assume, will get better as time progresses.

I've gotten better at making chords, but I still suck badly at changing from one chord to another. You're supposed to change chords between notes. I'm lucky if I can change chords between geologic eras. This has to get better, if only because it couldn't get any worse.

That's about it I guess. I'm getting better, but I'm still guitarded.

Did I mention that I have a date with NormalGirl?

Sometimes I think that I was born on the wrong planet. That just might be the most reasonable explanation for my utter incapability to explain this to those around me.

See, sometimes I hear shit. And it's the same tired old shit I've been hearing for at least 20 years. And it's just as wrong now as it was 20 years ago, and 100 years ago, and 1,000,000 years ago.

It's like people just take the easiest explanation, that the person they're dealing with is flat-out wrong, and they run with that explanation as far as they can.

Tonight, I heard this dude talking about how he'd ended a relationship. Why he'd ended a relationship. His girlfriend had a problem with his platonic friendship with another woman, so he dumped her.

Everyone in the area pretty much stood up and applauded. I'm surprised that nobody got their dick sucked, so frenzied was that orgy of appreciation.

Well, I guess the night is still young. Dicks may yet be sucked.

Anyway, I, like a dumbass, decided to contribute my own two cents worth to the conversation.

Sometimes, it's not jealousy or mistrust. Sometimes, it's simple insecurity. Sometimes, it's not unreasonable. Sometimes, it's understandable, if only the slightest attempt at understanding is made.

Sometimes, a little reassurance can go a very long way.

I've tried many times, over the years, to get people to accept these simple ideas into their heads. Not as absolute truths, merely as possibilities. I just get sick of hearing the same old shit over and over and over. So I speak up.

Each and every time, I've been met with ridicule and derision.

I should just stop trying, but I probably won't. It's a subject that's very relevant to me. I know a lot about it, because I've seen both sides of insecurity several times.

Sometimes, things can be fixed. It only takes a bit of effort and empathy. But people don't want that. They want the path of least resistance, and quite often that path leads right out of a relationship.

I wasn't planning to go to Rich O's last night. Or all weekend for that matter. But, after the week I've had at work, I really wanted to relax for a while. Sure, I can relax at home, but it's just not the same. Plus, I think that I was actually fit for human company for a change, and I didn't want to waste that rare opportunity.

The place was fucking packed. Standing room only everywhere, even out in the Special People Room. The crowd was about 99.999% strangers and weirdoes. I recognized a couple of people at the bar. PlantDude and this other dude who looks like my friend Eric's dad. But that was it.

I stood at the end of the bar, ordered an NABC Old Bob's 15B (284), and surveyed my surroundings. It didn't look good. The strangers in the living room area seemed fully-entrenched, as did the weirdoes at the island. But luck was with me, because some dork left the seat at the end of the bar, and I sat there.

I didn't do much of anything for the next hour or so, except listen to PlantDude get progressively louder. Oh yeah, I did get to talk to MisunderstoodGirl for a few minutes, so that was very cool. She was wondering if I'd seen NotHideousGirl at all. I hadn't.

Then LaptopGirl came in, then some strangers left the loveseat and the throne, and we ended up moving over there. She with her obligatory Guinness, me with my second pint of 15B (304).

The next couple of hours were very nice. Even though it was still pretty crowded and loud, I managed to ignore all of the petty distractions so I could talk to LaptopGirl.

Let's see, I had a pint of Guinness (1528) next, in a fancy new Guinness glass that I might have to buy someday. Then a while later I had a half a Guinness (1538) that LaptopGirl donated to me. Yay for free beer!

Once LaptopGirl had gone, I stuck around for a little while and had a Diet Coke. I was thinking about maybe going over to The Pub to see BikerGirl. Her boyfriend's band was playing there. But I really couldn't justify the cost, so I just came home and shot pool until the Sun came up.

The night was much more interesting and wonderful than I've made it seem here.

One of the cops who'd approached me took my wrists, one at a time, pulled them down to my lower back, and handcuffed me. I didn't resist at all. My total cooperation didn't deter Officer Bullhorn, who by this was time was out of his car and therefore just Officer Loudmouth, from repeating, "Do not resist the officer, Do not resist the officer."

The thought crossed my mind, to scream out that I wasn't resisting shit, but I didn't. I was in serious trouble for some reason, and I was actually fearing for my life a little bit. I remembered that a lot of police cars have video cameras in them, and I resolved to make sure that any recording of what I suspected was my impending murder would show that I'd cooperated completely.

These cops were going to fry. Not that it would do me much good by that time.

Once I was cuffed, they pulled me to my feet that leaned me over against the hood of my car. They frisked me and found nothing. Officer Loudmouth said something about how they were going to search my car because of a felony or something. By this time I wasn't paying attention at all. I was mentally preparing my will, and wondering how my sisters and my dad would take the news of my death.

While one of the cops was searching my car, the radios in the cop cars crackled to life. "Blah blah robbery suspect in custody blah blah," they said. Even though I couldn't see anything, what with my face pressed against the hood of my car and all, I could sense the cops looking at each other with surprise and confusion.

The cop who still had his gun drawn, at least I think it was him, pulled out his microphone thing and talked into it.

The radios cracked some more. I couldn't make out anything, this time. But a lot of amazing things happened right away.

The cops all whispered to each other for a minute or two.

My handcuffs were removed.

Two of the policemen got into their cars and drove away.

I was still afraid to move, so I stayed as I was. Leaning over my car with my face pressed against the wet hood.

Officer Loudmouth and the last remaining backup cop talked for a bit, then the backup cop got into his car and left.

"Please stand up, sir," Officer Loudmouth said to me.

I stood up, and I turned to face him.

"The reason I pulled you over tonight, sir," he said, "was because your driving sucked."

He said it with such a straight face that I couldn't help but contrast his expression with a smile.

"I didn't think that cops were allowed to use language like that with civilians, " I said.

Officer Loudmouth managed to grin without cracking his face in half.

"Only when it's true," he said.

I was starting to decompress.

"Well, sorry about that. I was just having a really hard time seeing in the rain. The glare from the road was blinding me, so I slowed down. Better safe than sorry."

"Right," he said. "Better safe than sorry. You're free to go, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience, and be careful."

As I moved to get back into my car, I had to ask, "What was that all about? The handcuffing and the drawn weapons and stuff?"

"Sir," he said, "Your car matched the description of a car used in an armed robbery in Bellevue earlier tonight."

"So that's why you pulled me over?" I asked.

"No sir," he replied. "As I said, I pulled you over because your driving sucked. It was when I was running your plates that I was told about the robbery and the suspect vehicle."

"Okay," I said. "You thought I was dangerous."

"Yes, sir," he said. "Armed and dangerous."

"Well, I'm pretty much the opposite of armed and dangerous."

"That's good to hear, sir. You have a good evening, and be careful."

"You, too."

And I got back into my piece of shit Thunderbird and drove away.

A couple of weeks later, I finally stopped shaking.

After I drove my Lebaron off that cliff, saving all those lives, I found myself without a car. This sucked, as you might imagine, because I needed my car to work.

Problem was, besides not having any insurance on the Lebaron, I had very little money with which to buy another car. Luckily for me, unluckily for him, a friend of mine had recently gotten a DUI, not his first, and so he wouldn't be driving for a while. Or maybe forever.

I bought his Thunderbird for like $100. I may have been ripped-off.

But the thing ran. It was ugly as sin, but it got me around for work. And other fun things.

One rainy night I was driving home from some bar. Back then, I ran a pool league, so I spent a lot of time driving between bars. I didn't really drink back then, though, because I hadn't discovered any beer that I liked yet.

So I was driving home from a bar on a rainy night, and I was having a very tough time seeing the road. I bet I was going about 25 MPH on a road designed for twice that speed.

I saw flashing lights behind me. One of Washington's finest.

I pulled over to the side of the road, and I clasped my hands together behind my head. So the cop could see my hands and so wouldn't just preemptively shoot me. I saw a guy do that on the show Cops once, and I thought it was a good idea. I mean the clasping the hands thing, not the preemptive shooting thing.

Anyway.

This guy got on his bullhorn and told me not to move. That was fine with me. I wasn't planning on moving. But after I sat like that for about 15 minutes, I got a little fidgety. I'd thought the cop was just running my plates or something. Or maybe he was waiting for the rain to let up a little.

Nope.

He was waiting for backup.

Not one, not two, but three police cars arrived at pretty much the same time, lights flaring and sirens blaring, and they parked so as to surround me.

I got a little nervous at that point.

I got really nervous when Officer Bullhorn instructed me to (a) use my left hand to roll down my window, (b) use my left hand to throw my car keys outside the car, and (c) place my left hand back behind my head.

I nearly pissed my pants when, while I was following Officer Bullhorn's advice to the letter, the backup cops all got out of their cars, crouched behind their doors, and pointed their weapons at me.

It was probably stupid of me, but I had to say something. "I don't want any trouble," I shouted into the rain.

"Shut up right now!" Officer Bullhorn replied.

So, I shut up.

Next I was instructed to use my left hand to open my door and get out of the car with my hands behind my head.

I did so.

Next I was instructed to lie face-down on the sopping wet pavement, facing away from my car, and to place my hands back behind my head.

I did that too. It was cold, but I don't think that's the only reason I was shaking.

All of the cops then stood up. Two of the backup guys holstered their guns and approached me slowly, while the third backup guy kept his weapon pointed straight at me.

I heard Officer Bullhorn open his door and get out of his car.

(to be continued)

I have serious doubts that this will work. I just wanted to say that, right up front. So there's no doubt about my doubt.

I went to this thing. A meeting, actually. For a thing called National Novel Writing Month. I'd never heard of it before, but apparently they're organized enough to have their own website. Not that that is saying a whole lot. After all, I have my own website.

Anyway. I went to this thing because LaptopGirl invited me to it. I would have, of course, gone to anything to which LaptopGirl invited me. A dog shit tasting. A neo-Nazi convention. A football game. So I felt a bit fortunate that this meeting was about something that I could possibly be interested in. Or, at least, something that I could feign interest in.

The point of this thing, for those of you who haven't clicked the conveniently placed link which I so generously provided, is that you write a 50,000-word novel in a month. The month of November, to be precise.

Also, I'm not really sure that it has to be an actual novel that you write, because I asked if I could just use my regular blog stuff and they said that I could. It can be autobiographical nonfiction. That would be a pretty shitty novel, I think. But I do have a title for it already.

A November to Remember.

Probably not very original, but as long as I don't Google it, I can continue to imagine that I made it up all on my own, and that I was the first to do so.

To write 50,000 words in November would require averaging 1,667 words every day. I looked back through some of my old blog entries, and the longest one I found was 1,800 words. So that was cool. But then I counted all the words for every entry for all of the months that I've done this, and the most words I found was a little over 12,000. So that sucked.

Basically, most of my most verbose writing came when I was crazy. So, to become verbose again, all I have to do is be crazy again. I certainly could do that, but I don't want to.

This entry is a test. To see how long it takes me to write 1,667 words, and also to see if I can do it without much effort. Because I can't imagine putting effort into writing 1,667 words every day for a month. If I do this, I'll just have to sort of skate through most days.

Okay, it was 426 words up to the end of that last paragraph. And it took me about 15 minutes, but I went to pee at one point, so maybe 13 or 14 minutes, tops. Now, all I have to do is quadruple my current output, and I'm home-free. Then, all I have to do is manage the same feat every single fucking day in November.

Doubtful.

I have a very strong suspicion that this would be an easier feat if I wrote fiction. Like a real novel. I've never really tried that, but I don't think I'd be very good at it. And I don't want to write something that has no real hope of being at least readable.

Only 543 now. Damn.

I do have some ideas for fictional stories. There are even a couple that I've had rattling around in my head since I was a kid. I even have a couple of opening sentences waiting at the ready for a story to back them up. I started one, once. It's probably in one of my notebooks around here somewhere. I only remember the first sentence.

Gary knew a flying saucer when he saw one.

Ulysses?

Nope, too dated.

Conan?

Ugh. Too much strength, and my character would not be gay. He would also wear a shirt at all times.

I dunno don't know do not know. Notice how cleverly I just increased my word count? Pretty subtle, I know.

Only 698?!?

Fuck. Not even halfway there.

I kind of think that writing this novel in blog format would be cheating. I'm not saying that I won't do it that way, I'm just saying that the idea doesn't seem quite legitimate. Kind of like when LaptopGirl asked if she could convert one of her existing screenplays to novel format. That, of course, would definitely be cheating.

See, I think that we're supposed to write new stuff. And, I get the impression, it's supposed to be stuff that we wouldn't be writing anyway. Like, it's supposed to be writing that we do specifically for this nanowrimo thingy. That's why I think the blog thing would be cheating. I already write 4,000 words every month, adding 46,000 more wouldn't be that great of a challenge. All I'd have to do is let the crazy thoughts back out of the bottles.

Would that be worth it? No way. Not even for a Pulitzer.

I was thinking about this for a while last night, because sleep was certainly out of the question. At about 3:30 in the morning, I had an actual good idea. Me, of all people. I think that, if I end up participating in this thing, the novel I write will be a direct result of that idea. So that means that I'm not going to say what my idea was so nobody steals it.

Muhaha.

Still only 928 words. I don't see how I could possible make it to my goal tonight. It's almost time to start checking my email every 10 seconds, and I can't be expected to write and do that at the same time.

I think that, tonight, I should stop at 1000 words. That's a nice round number. Wait, I guess that's actually an even number. Maybe, instead, I will stop at 999.

Six Years ago...
How have you changed since 2001?

1.) How old were you?
184

2.) Where did you go to school?
School of Hard Knocks.

3) Where did you work?
Started the year as an independent, finished the year with a regular job.

4.) Where did you live?
Same place I live now, Georgewardsville, Indiana.

5.) Where did you hang out?
Back then? Either at home or at Bailey's in Clarksville.

6.) Did you wear glasses?
Yes.

7.) Who was your best friend?
I probably hung out with my cousin Jeff more than anyone else.

8.) Haw many tattoos did you have?
None.

9.) How many piercing did you have?
None.

10.) What car did you drive?
1993 Dodge Intrepid, 1985 Toyota Pickup, 1985 Chevy MOnte Carlo SS.

11.) Had you been to a real party?
What a stupid question. Of course.

12.) Had You had your heart broken?
You mean by then, or during that year. If the former, then yes. If the latter, then no.

13.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced?
Divorced.

14.)Any Kids?
Depends on how you count them.

-------------3 years ago----------since 2004?

1.) How old were you?
852

2.) Where did you go to school?
School of Hard Knocks - getting my doctorate.

3.) Where did you work?
Same real job I had in 2001.

4.) Where did you live?
Same house I've had since 1999.

5).Where did you hang out?
Rich O's.

6.) Did you wear glasses?
Yes.

7.) Who were your best friend(s):
LaptopGirl, SassyGirl, MisunderstoodGirl.

8.) How many tattoos did you have?
Zero.

9.) How many piercing did you have?
Zero.

10) What car did you drive?
Same three as before.

11) Had your heart broken?
Yes.

12.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced:
Still divorced, somewhat taken.

13.) Any Kids?
Still depends on how you count them.

--------------------Today--------------------

1.) How old are you?
8

2.) Where do you work?
Same place.

3.) Where do you live?
Same house.

4.) Do you wear glasses?
Same eyes. New glasses though.

5) Who are your close friends?
RockGirl

6.) Do you talk to your old friends?
Yes.

7) How many piercing do you have?
Still zero.

8.) How many tattoos?
Still zero.

9.) What kind of car do you have?
Still the same three.

10.) Has your heart been broken?
Still broken from before.

11)Single/Taken/Married/Divorced:
Still divorced. Looking.

12.)Any Kids?
Still depends.

I was wondering, what's the most important piece of advice I could give to anyone starting their own blog?

I didn't have to wonder for very long. The answer is obvious. At least now it is. I wish it had been obvious to me, back when I first started.

Keep it anonymous.

Don't let it be traceable back to you.

Don't tell your family where your blog is, and don't tell your friends where it is. Because, if you tell anyone where it is, they will read it. At first, you might think that you'd want these people to read it. You'll probably write some things that you're really proud of. You'll probably write some things that you want to say out loud, but which you are unable or unwilling to say out loud.

It will be very tempting. You must resist that temptation. I wish, with all my heart, that I'd resisted that temptation. Things would be very different now, if only I'd realized the obvious, back when I first started.

Back before it was too late.