I'm thinking tonight about how disconnected I seem to be from things that, up until a short while ago, were such an integral part of my existence.

It's almost exactly the same feeling I get when I drive past my grandmother's old house. The memories of that house are all inside me, and I can dredge them up whenever I want to, but I guess I don't really see the point right now.

I remember being in that place, belonging in that place, so long ago, but I don't belong there anymore. There's a definite disconnect between my memories of that life and the sense of self that I use to define me at present.

My memories of being in that house, no matter how moving or vivid those memories might be, those memories will never and can never come close to recreating the experience of being there. That feeling of home that I felt even more strongly than I did with my actual home.

Similarly, that dark place inside my own head, where I spent so much of the recent past, while certainly less tangible than the old house where my grandmother would always have cookies to eat and stories to tell and ABC macaroni in a big pink bowl whenever I wanted it, that dark place was as real to me as any physical place could ever be.

And, like a physical place, it's possible to leave, either by force or by choice. That dark place is not me and that means that I can exist separately from it.

My mind drives past, and I remember what it was like in that place. What once seemed to be such a huge part of my life I now look at from the outside and it just seems so fucking small and unsubstantial. I think about how if I were to go back inside, those walls would once again become my world. My entire existence would be contained within those walls which would comfort me and make me feel so at home.

Problem is, I'm not sure that I belong there anymore.

If I did everything that you think I should do, and I did them the way you think they should be done, then you'd have to find something else to be all smug and self-righteous about.

I'm doing you a favor by being imperfect in your eyes.

Also, get over yourself.

SassyGirl finally managed to send me these pics she took Saturday night:

This was before they made me put on the hat.

Me and SassyGirl. The hat was her idea.

SassyBoy joined us for the next picture.

Then SassyBoy's boyfriend joined us.

This me trying to look like I really don't know what happened to the hat.

If I did everything that you think I should do, and I did them the way you think they should be done, then you'd have to find something else to be all smug and self-righteous about.

I'm doing you a favor by being imperfect in your eyes.

Also, get over yourself.

So I figure I'll make an attempt to stay up a little bit later this evening. It's Wednesday and I only have two nights to get back in sync with the rest of the world.

It has been nice getting plenty of sleep for the last few nights though.

Today, I ate lunch at Buckhead's with some work people.

I almost never eat lunch on a weekday, but I've been craving a Buckhead's Cajun burger for several weeks now, plus I've been asked by a friend of mine to stay away from that place at night, plus the other work guys were going there.

So I went.

My food was yummy, as was the Stone Smoked Porter (190) I had with it. Even though they had it on tap, for some reason the waitress gave me a bottle. I didn't drink the whole bottle though, just 20 ounces of it.

After work, I tried to call SassyGirl, but got no answer.

I went to Rich O's and sat at the bar and had a Spezial (1150) which was yummy. There were about a zillion loud fuckers over by the island. The bartender told me they were good people though so I didn't scowl at them too much. Plus one of the girls was kinda hot.

PatronizingAsshole came in and sat beside me at one point and proceeded to lecture the bartender on how he should go to Dublin and learn how to pour a pint of Guinness. I hate that guy so much. He wasn't even drinking Guinness - he just saw fit to be a dick. There's not a damn thing wrong with the way any of the bartenders at Rich O's pour a pint.

I came home to a clean house and a mowed lawn. That was pretty nice, and well worth the money I spend so I don't have to do that shit myself. This was the first lawn mowing this season for those of you keeping score at home.

Man I'm bored.

I need to find something to do or I'll get sleepy and that'll ruin my grand plan to stay up until at least 10:00 tonight.

You know what's funny?

I miss MixedSignalGirl more than I miss LaptopGirl.

Fuck, I even miss HatGirl more than I miss LaptopGirl.

Maybe I've been abducted by aliens and replaced by a pod person.

But wouldn't I, of all people, know it if that were the case?

I don't really feel like a pod person, I'm just acting like one.

Oh yeah, HatGirl is having a yard party, but I'll be in St. Louis that weekend. Sucks to be me.

Man I'm bored. And tired.

What a boring person I've become.

Whether it's shock or denial or a combination of the two, my mind seems to have shut itself down.

This is a good thing if I want to sleep, and it's certainly allowing me to do that lately. This is also a good thing for my readers if they want to sleep, for if there is anything more likely to cause drowsiness than reading about another person's boring life and mundane thoughts - I don't know what it would be.

I feel like there must be something here inside my head that, if I could only get a good enough grip on it, I could force it to generate some passion within me. Then I could let some of that passion spill out onto this keyboard.

There must must be something in here.

Today, I went shopping for booze. This is an annual event in which I spend a lot of money, on things that I will never drink, simply because my company expects it of me. So now I've got even more wine and whisky and whiskey and vodka to place alongside all of the bottles that I've bought in previous years. My liquor cabinet overflowed last year - bottles are now starting to crowd onto my kitchen counter. My freezer is filling up with flavored vodka.

I try to give it away to friends and family, but I don't have a lot of either, and most of the people I know are beer drinkers anyway.

I could throw the fuck all of parties, but since I don't like people that much, I doubt that I'll be doing that anytime soon. Or ever.

My fridge is also filling up with beer. Like today I bought myself a six-pack each of Bell's Kalamazoo Stout and Upland Chocolate Stout. Six months ago I never drank at home, but I've picked up that habit lately I suppose. Mostly in an attempt to stir my creative juices. I gotta watch that shit though. I gotta remember where I came from. What my parents were.

After the booze shopping I stopped by Rich O's and had myself a glass of Spezial Rauchbier Lager (1130) which started being promised in January I think but only just now showed up on tap. It was yummy.

Once I got home I went to sleep and slept for nine hours.

I dreamed that I missed a certain person, and I was so happy to be feeling anything again, but then I remembered that I'm not allowed to miss that person anymore. So I dreamed that I missed someone else until the same realization put an end to that as well.

So, apparently, I'm not allowing myself to feel anything at all, not even in my dreams.

How messed up is that?

Nine hours of sleep. Wow. After ten hours of sleep the night before.

A guy could get used to this.

Now, if I could only figure out how to do it during normal hours.

Me and SassyGirl acting like idiots Saturday night.

There were many more pictures taken. The others she must have deemed too hideous to send me.

This whole death thing. It's a metaphor.

Well, except for that entry I made on the 26th about dying. That wasn't a metaphor, it was a hypothetical situation.

I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to physically die anytime soon. As sure as any of us can be, anyway, which isn't very.

All this recent death talk is not about my body physically dying. It's about this life that I'm living coming to an end.

There is a difference.

I've written that I died when I found out that she'd moved away. That was the same thing, the same concept. I lived to be near her, but it was no longer an option. I kept breathing during that time, I just stopped wanting to breathe and I had a tough time coming up with a good reason to keep doing it.

Well, the reason that I came up with was an understandable one I suppose. A stupid one, to be sure, but it kept me going for a long time.

That reason was hope.

Though I spent most of my time denying its existence, just as I'd spent most of my time denying the feelings that came before it, hope did exist for me. A very small spark of hope it was, but when held up against the blackness that I found myself in, that small spark was all that I needed to keep going. To keep breathing. Because, you never know.

Well, now that hope is in its death throes, and when it's gone, so will this life that I've been living. The hole in my heart has a specific size and shape, and that which would have filled that hole is about to change both.

That was me, trying to be funny. Three people will get the joke.

Once this hope dies, I'll have to come up with another reason to breathe.

I have no idea what that reason might be. For now, it's simple denial that's keeping me alive. But that won't last forever.

I'm not stupid, you know. I recognize what this means. At least my brain does. It's only a matter of time before my heart realizes it. Once that happens, I'll die again.

Metaphorically, anyway.