Right now, right this second, I'm actually in the mood to write something.

This is a good thing, I believe. At least for me it is.

I was really starting to wonder if this mood would ever strike me again.

Anyway, here goes.

---

I don't know who you are anymore.

I'm not sure that I ever really did.

Your face has become murky, your body nondescript. Your voice, your eyes, your hair - I can no longer imagine any of them with any consistency and not with any certainty. I don't know who you are.

For the longest time, longer than I care to remember with any accuracy except that just I happen to know the year and the month and the day and the hour and the minute when it began, I knew exactly who you were. What you looked like. How your voice sounded. How your eyes sparkled. How you'd smile at me, and my heart would stop, and a part of me would silently wish that it would never beat again, so that I might die in such a perfect moment.

Well, sometimes wishes don't come true, and sometimes I end up being grateful for being denied that which I'd wished for.

Like right now.

I was so sure that she was you, so sure that you were her, that I stopped looking for you altogether.

I was wrong. I see that now. If you were her, if she was you, then you'd be here beside me right now, and I wouldn't be writing this drivel.

You're still out there somewhere though. I imagine my future and I can almost see you lying beside me. I can almost hear your voice as you tell me that you love me. I can almost feel the heat from your body as I hold you close.

Hope is a strange thing. It exists only to disappoint, for once it's fulfilled, it vanishes. But hope still drives me. It drives me to keep looking for you. Misjudgments and misconceptions and miscalculations, and failure and collapse and loss, they might slow me down at times but they will never completely deter me.

You are out there somewhere, and I will find you.

And when I do, and when I do I will take your hand in mine. And I'll look into your eyes. And everything that's been missing in my life will be found. And all of the pain will fade away. And I'll know in my heart that it was all worth it, all worth it so that I could be standing there with you at that moment.

And you'll feel the same way.

Because you're the one.

What am I supposed to write about when there's nothing to write about?

Fuck if I know.

I hate the thought of this becoming nothing more than a simple and boring chronicle of my simple and boring existence. Of course, it's often been that despite my best intentions, but every now and then it became something more. Something important for me to write, and something equally important for me to read.

Now? Now, not so much.

Enough whining. On with the drivel.

I've spent a good chunk of the last few days working on my website. What started out as a simple desire to add commenting capability has evolved into a full-blown site restructuring. Problem is, the more I change, the less I like it. Can't quit now though. I only quit the important things in my life.

Dammit, asshole! I said that's enough whining!

Today after work I stopped by Rich O's. I had a Smithwick's (746) and I talked with Roger for a bit about DaveFest. I guess that Rogue Chocolate Stout may be arriving late - so late in fact that the entire thing might get pushed back to the second week of June. We also talked about t-shirts. I don't know what's going to happen with that.

GlassesGirl and MusicalHippyDude came in just before I left. I guess they had a party Saturday night and tried, in vain, to contact me. I told them that it was nice of them to think of me.

I guess that's it. Would the last person to leave please turn out the lights?

They just had one of those human-interest stories on the morning news.

The Possum Lady of Southern Indiana.

This old lady had possums all over the place! People bring her possums from all over the area! She let the vile things crawl all over her!

I guess I should applaud her. I could never do what she does. Those damn beady eyes...

Once again, I'm taking the lazy way out. I took notes last night.

8:20
Rich O's is closed, so I'm going to this Mac's place that I don't like very much. They have Newcastle on tap, and maybe MisunderstoodGirl will be there.

8:45
There's nobody here but fuckheads and idiots. Not even Newcastle is worth putting up with these people. I'm outta here.

8:55
I'm at Sportstime, the sister business of Rich O's. At least they have the decency to be open. LIke I always say, it's weird over here. I order a BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (204).

9:05
This is so boring.

9:10
The guy at the next table and his beard are drinking LIndemann's - a popular chick drink. I don't think she'll be getting any dick tonight. At least not from him. Maybe they'll just cuddle or something.

9:14
It's like a million degrees in this place.

9:15
Idiots leave and new idiots immediately fill the void. There's no end to the cycle of idiots.

9:18
Everybody thinks that one girl is hot. I don't know why. She's shaped like a potato.

9:20
That one chick better hope that the fire marshall doesn't come in. Her hair is so big it's blocking all the escape routes. Nice tits though.

9:25
I'm moving to another table. One with better airflow.

9:27
Much better!

9:35
The sign outside the brewery says "Cone Smoker 4/26." The would be a very welcome addition to the NABC lineup.

9:38
The board also mentions something called "Hoosier Daddy." Firstly, I don't know what that is, and secondly, that's a stupid name.

9:40
Upon further review, the board does say "Cone Smoker" but there's no date next to it. Figures. How dare I get my hopes up that they'd make a beer that I actually like? It's already been a zillion years.

9:44
The server doesn't know what "Hoosier Daddy" is either.

9:50
I'm dying of thirst over here! Hello, ServerDude!

9:51
At least PotatoGirl dresses nicely. Everybody else looks like they got smuggled in inside somebody's car trunk.

9:53
They're out of Weihenstephaner, so I order a Baltika 6 and cross my fingers.

9:54
They're fucking out of Baltika 6 too, so I order a BBC Alt and cross my fingers and my toes.

9:55
Yay! I have a BBC Alt (232).

10:00
Piss time.

10:11
The 1970s called, and they want their hairstyle back.

10:16
Boring, I tell you!

10:25
Piss time.

10:26
I get another BBC Alt (244). The first one was yummy, so why not? I also order a pizza to go.

10:34
Such a lovely copper color!

10:37
I'm watching a fucking basketball game. That's how bored I am.

10:40
I think PotatoGirl might be pregnant. If so, it's not my fault.

10:47
Pizza is here. I'm leaving.

Last night was just strange.

The parking lot was full. The lot across the street was full. The lot at Kroger was pretty fucking full.

Not a good sign.

So I walked into Rich O's. The loser area was completely packed. The front area was completely packed. Rich O's proper was...

surprisingly, not packed.

So I sat in the throne and wondered what was going on with the crowd. There wasn't a single familiar face in the entire establishment except for the bartenders and the two people sitting on the sofa. It was like I'd walked into the wrong bar or something.

Pretty damn weird.

My first beer was an Upland Winter Warmer (180). This beer would later prove to be my downfall.

I talked with the couple on the sofa about nothing much. SassyGirl called to let me know that she'd be in later. WomanRepellant showed up, as did a few of the PBDs.

But mostly the place was full of strangers and assorted idiots. I ended up theorizing that these were people that had come to the area for the big Thunder Over Louisville air and fireworks show. At least that's one possible explanation. Another might be that the universe hates me.

My second beer was a yummy BBC Jefferson's Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout (184).

By the time SassyGirl showed up, I was already starting to regret drinking the Upland. Not that it's not a great beer - it just seemed to hit me harder than it ever had before.

So I ordered a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier but I only drank a little bit of it (856). I ended up coming home a little after 11:00.

Now tonight the place will be closed because it's always so dead in there when they have the stupid Thunder show. So I don't know what, if anything, I'll do tonight.

...I am not dead.

That's too bad, actually, because now I'm left with no reasonable excuse whatsoever for not posting anything for two days.

The truth is, I've done nothing but work and watch TV and sleep.

I wish I could draw.

I'd draw a lot of things, but the first thing I'd draw would be a wall. A very high wall, completely unscalable. The wall would also extend to the sides forever and ever.

The wall would block a long road. It would be impossible to even guess, let alone see, what was on the other side.

I'd also draw myself standing on that road, at the base of that wall.

I'd be looking up, my mouth open in a silent scream.

I wish I could draw.

UPDATE: The next best thing to being able to draw is having a friend who can draw. My friend RockGirl drew this 22 years ago, and it's been waiting for me ever since.

Well, that was a load of drivel.

I'm not rewriting it though. I kinda sorta managed to make my point.

Most of it anyway.

I guess the other thing I was trying to say, what I didn't quite manage to convey, is that it's not hopeless. We're not all doomed. Pain from long ago can sometimes wash over us, but that doesn't mean that we're going to have to relive it all. Sometimes scars just itch, and all it takes is a scratch to make it feel better.

I think that what people need to understand, what people should understand, is that the old adage time heals all wounds is utter bullshit.

Sure, some wounds may heal. Some wounds may fade away so completely that there's no trace left of them. Sometimes we even forget about them ourselves.

But not always.

Sometimes they leave scars, and sometimes those scars stay with us forever.

Things that happen to us, maybe things that we do to other people, they can leave scars either physical or emotional and there's not a damn thing we can do about them except learn to live with them as well as we can. If we can.

I've got a scar on my nose. When I was 5 I ran through a sliding glass door.

I've got a scar on my foot. When I was 12 I stepped on a nail.

When I was 20 a thrown plate shattered against my left arm and severed an artery. I almost lost my arm completely. That scar still itches, from time to time.

These things are now a part of me, and in a way they made me the person that I am. But these small scars only changed my physical appearance. They are nothing.

At some point in the coming weeks or months or years, somebody will see me smile. It's bound to happen. Somebody will see me smile and that's all that they'll see. They will assume that I'm happy.

When I was 16, my first real girlfriend killed herself.

When I was 21, my marriage ended.

When I was 22, my mother died after a long illness.

When I was 27, my wife and I split for the last time.

When I was 33, my grandmother and my father died within weeks of each other.

When I was 39, I finally knew what I wanted from life, but it was ripped away.

At some point in the coming weeks or months or years, somebody will see me cry. It's bound to happen. Somebody will see me cry and that's all they'll see.

They'll assume that I'm sad, but they won't know why. Maybe they'll ask.

And then I'll tell them that my scars are itching.

Time does not heal all wounds. Sometimes they leave scars, and sometimes those scars stay with us forever. Sometimes healing is nothing but an illusion.