I had this brilliantstupid idea to relieve some boredom by writing an entry. The one I was going to write was that I was going to pick November 18th - I picked today's date because it seemed as good as any - for the last several years, and say what I was doing and thinking and so on.

It was a terrible idea. I've been too fucking sad for too fucking long, and I don't want to write about that anymore, but that's all there is.

There is more to say. More that I need to say. Wants went out the window a long time ago, and all that's left are needs.

You might think that I've said everything. You might think that I've run out of things to say and so I've simply repeated myself over and over and over and over.

But, you would be wrong.

There's so much that's been left unsaid.

As the walls go up, the truth makes a panicked and desperate dash toward freedom, lest it be trapped forever.

There are reasons for all of this. Reasons, I mean, besides the obvious.

If the truth is hidden away and silenced, does it even count? Is it still true?

There is more to say.

(During a morning re-read, the above came off as slightly ominous. That was not the intent at all.)

I know I know, things change all the time. What I say one day might not be truth on the next day. But, this is my journal, and I'm going to make use of it.

This is what is true today and this is what's been eating at me.

I fucked up. I've managed to lose the two most important people in my life. One was my best friend, and the other was most definitely not a friend but she was something. Something both above and below friendship. I truly fear that I'll never hear from either of them again, and quite frankly that's probably the fate that I deserve.

And just because the loss of one of these people might have been overdue and necessary and perhaps even desired, that doesn't lessen the sting at all. Losing her stings like a bitch, and the only thing that's keeping me somewhat afloat is the feeling that this will be the last time I have to go through this.

Because there will never be another like her. I won't let that happen.

And the other one I've lost? My true and faithful friend? Well, my brain just cannot process that particular loss. Every time I try to think about losing her it's like a safety valve somewhere in my head snaps shut.

What's true today may not be true tomorrow, but today the truth is that I feel more alone than I ever have before, and it's my own fucking fault.

This isn't going to work. I can't write anything now. I'm too fucking tired. I'm pretty sure I slept Wednesday night, but I'm equally sure that was the last time.

I just watched a movie. And in that movie a plane was about to crash. And on that plane people held hands when they thought they were about to die. I know, it was just a movie, but those people in their last moments of life touched another person. If they were lucky, they got to touch a person they loved.

I can't write this. There's no point.

Welcoming even the slightest distractions these days, I couldn't help but notice this.

We have a weirdo at work. One of several, actually, but this particular weirdo is at least being original about it.

For one thing, he spends a lot of time standing in his cubicle. His job is to sit at a computer and talk on the phone, but he chooses to stand. A lot. His head poking above the cubicle walls always reminds me of prairie dogs sticking up out of their holes.

Anyway, this morning I was in the breakroom and the weirdo came in. He stopped in front of the Coke machine, whipped out his phone, and took a picture of the machine. Then, he left the room.

So, thanks, weirdo standing picture-taking dude! You managed to distract me quite well this morning.

I'm in a weird mood. Weird, huh?

I should go somewhere this weekend. I should go to Covington. I say that every weekend. It's become a bit of a tired joke with RockGirl:

I should go to Covington this weekend.

Then, sometime Saturday evening:

I should have gone to Covington.

I never go anywhere. I always want to go, but then I don't. I don't know why. Lack of motivation, I suppose.

I'll go see StupidGirl in February. That seems like a million years from now. A lot can happen between now and then, so it's kinda hard to get excited.

I could die between now and then, for instance. Or StupidGirl could get married or something. I'd still go to Las Vegas if that happened, it just wouldn't be as much fun.

I think that, if I had to pick a word to label this mood I'm in, that word would be conversational. I want to have a couple discussions and try to sort some things out. It probably won't happen, though. People, including my lovely self, get too defensive and accusatory. It makes rational conversation almost impossible.

I just can't help but think about the .0000001% chance that things could work out. That tiny chance makes me feel like a jerk and it keeps me awake at night and it keeps me from lowering my foot.

Anyway, I guess I should get ready for this meeting.

I think I wantneed to expand a little on the quickie I just posted, "My brain is stuck in a groove today."

This has happened before. A couple of times over the last few years, it's happened. I somehow go from thinking about the same thing (you get one guess) every few seconds to thinking about nothing else at all. I somehow still manage to breathe and stuff, but it takes a conscious effort.

In the past, this has usually led to constant sadness or incessant giddiness. But today, today it's not really leading anywhere. It just is.

To paraphrase something that was recently said to me, "I should be more upset about this, but I'm not."

Very, very strange.

Odds are very good that I'm simply in denial, and that once my subconscious recognizes the harsh reality of this mess, I'll fall apart. But that's okay. If that's what it takes for this to be over, then that's a price I can pay. I've wanted this to be over for a very long time.

Besides, I've fallen apart before, and maybe this will be the last time it ever happens.

Yeah, right.

There was an unanticipated side-effect of writing that drivel yesterday. I really should have anticipated it, though. It's happened before, it's just been a long time.

The ability to just vent a little, albeit in written form, did wonders for my mood. There have been so many things I've wanted to say over the years, but I've stayed relatively silent.

That's still going to happen, in most cases.

Right now, I'm battling on two fronts. It kinda sucks.

In one case, I want resolution like I want to breathe. In the other case, I want it to be over, one way or another, no matter the cost. I may not get what I want in either case. Like I said, it kinda sucks.

Anyway, people will say whatever it takes to make themselves feel better about themselves regarding a bad situation. Even when they have to lie to themselves to say it. Making the other person the "bad" one is far more important than truth and personal responsibility.

Just kind of trying to get my thoughts together now. No easy feat; they're running and jumping around inside my head like they saw a spider in there or something. Maybe they did. That would be weird, but it might also explain some things, like the cobwebs that have been impairing my judgment lately. It would also explain the screams.

I had such a bad day Saturday. I'm still in shock from it. Both because of the complete meltdown I witnessed, and because of the way I reacted to it. Maybe it was necessary. Maybe I needed something to push me out of this place. This place I've been shown over and over and over. This ever-shrinking place. This terrible and wonderful place that's been my home and my cage for over seven years.

I'm trying to take a step. That's all it should take. Just one little step in any direction, and I'll be gone. Somewhere else. It has to be better, right?

Right?

Oh, here's a thought.

Maybe I really did die back in 2004. Maybe it wasn't a metaphor at all. I've heard stories about how sometimes, when people die, their ghosts are trapped and left to wander and moan and stuff.

Maybe I'm a ghost, stuck in this place because I have unfinished business here. Not that I know what that business might be. I used to think that I knew. I was wrong.

Anyway, boo!

It shouldn't be this hard. Nothing should be this hard.

Just take a damn step, Dave.

Okay, good, you picked up your foot. Was that so bad?

Now, just put your foot down somewhere else. I don't care where, just so long as it's outside this place.

Just do it, you pussy! Be a man and put your foot down!

I think the same thing so many times. I wonder so many times. I think that this is the love of my life, and I wonder what the fuck I'm doing. I wonder what I could possibly be doing, with my foot hanging in the air like this.

There will, by definition, never be another. So as soon as I leave this place, as soon as I put my foot down outside of this place, I'll might be nowhere at all. I wonder if it's an illusion. I think that maybe nothing exists outside of this place. I wonder if I'll simply disappear. I wonder if that would be a good thing.

It shouldn't be this hard.

That one thing: Nope.
That other thing: Not anymore.
That really unlikely thing: Never, really.

Without trust, everything else is irrelevant.