I just didn't see how any good could come of it. I had no desire to be seen as yet another orbiter, engaged in stupid subtle pissing contests and territorial displays.

There's just no point anyway. The winner was preemptively decided a long time ago.

Anyone but Dave is the fucking winner, okay?

I get it. It took me a while, but I get it.

There are lines that I will no longer cross, and I'm drawing new lines all over the place. I think that my hope is that eventually these lines will stack to form a new wall around me.

Meanwhile, I've got this damn thing staring me in the face.

Yesterday, on facebook, a group was formed consisting of former journalspace.com members. When that site died a couple of years ago, those of us in that community were left to scatter. Now a bunch of them are on facebook and they've formed a new group. I'm not really sure why. Just to see who's still alive, I guess. And to find out what everyone's real names are. On JS almost everybody used handles instead of names. I went by barenada for one blog and anonymousme for another.

I joined the group yesterday, having been invited by NakedGirl. A few people remembered me, and I remembered a few more. Weird to see them posting by their real names. Anyway...

Found ya! Yay. Have to find out what happened to that relationship with the woman, who you desparately loved, but missed the chance with!

Now it's after 10:00. I'm up too late again. I have to get up at 5:00, after all.

Why am I still awake?

There's no reason that I can think of. I'm not even glaring at my phone tonight, so even that old standby of an excuse is no good.

Anyway...

(Deleted)

I should have gone. But, I didn't. But, I should have. Maybe I'll get another chance. If so, then I'm fucking going. I'll deal with the aftermath later, but I deserve a chance, no matter how slim, at a happy life.

I really do.

If I was going to write something now, as I wait for my clothes to finish washing so I can throw them into the dryer, if I was going to write something now, I guess I'd write about how sometimes I just get pissed about it all.

I'd write that I try to be reasonable. I really do. And I'd write that I know that it's both silly and futile to be angry about it. Much more understandable to simply be sad, but sad gets old after a while. Anger always seems new. Like it's something special. Something that might last, I might write.

But then I'd write about how it never lasts. About how I always catch myself and I feel guilty. Because I have no evidence that this was done to me as opposed to in spite of me. No evidence at all, unless you count the words of everyone on Earth. And I don't. Or at least I try not to.

If I was going to write something now, I'd probably go off on a real tear about things.

Good thing my laundry is done, so I can stop before I write anything.

Speaking of weird dreams...

Nice segue, I know. Thanks for noticing.

Twice in the last two weeks, I've had myself a sex dream about a particular girl. But that's not the weird part. I am a guy after all. It's a wonder I ever have any non-sex dreams.

The weird part is who the dream was about. It's nobody that anyone would ever guess, at least not unless I let them have a dozen or so guesses. Or maybe a million.

And both times the sex kinda sucked. Not from lack of trying, but from lack of something else. Something intangible. Like we were just going through the motions and that was it. And there was more effort than there should have been, like we weren't quite in-sync. Two rhythms clashing, neither able nor willing to compromise and find common ground.

I've written before, lots of times, that I believe that dreams are metaphors for real life. So I wonder what this particular pair of dreams was symbolizing.

Wasted effort was my first guess. But then I had a thought that maybe I wasn't even in the dream at all. Like maybe both participants were metaphors for someone else.

But then my brain exploded and I stopped trying to analyze the dreams.

Pictures
I used to have a shitload of pictures up in my cubicle at work. Then, when they let me go, I hung the same pictures up in my office during a consulting gig. When that engagement was over, well I don't have a clue what I did with my pictures. Most, if not all, of these pictures could simply be reprinted, but I keep thinking I'll find them. They're in a white envelope.

Phone Doohickey
This is an adapter that lets me connect my old phone earbud/microphone to my new phone. The hole on the newer phone is bigger than it was on the old phone. I could use the earbuds/microphone thingy that came with the new phone, but I like the old earbud/microphone thingy that I've always used. It's only got one earbud instead of two, and that's all I want. This missing adapter doohickey is in a white plastic bag. I don't, however, know where the bag is. The last time I saw the bag was at work.