Meanwhile, I continue to wait.

Just dazzle me.

Just be so wonderful, so astonishing and so fascinating that there's no room in me for doubt, or for fear, or for terror. Just be so bright that the only thing I can see is you. But make sure that you do it soon, before I get too complacent. For once that happens, I'll start to think. And that is where the trouble starts.

Don't give me a chance to think.

Just enchant me. Overwhelm me. I dare you.

Sure, it may be difficult. But it's not impossible.

I used to think that it was. I used to think that it was, until somebody managed to do it without even trying.

Now I just want somebody to do it again.

Somebody else.

I'm waiting.

I just might go and make South Park images of all of my friends so I can use them in my comics.

I just might.

Unless it's too hard.

Okay, I got them all.

I don't understand most of them, but I got them.

...was that a blacksmith will temper metal by repeated cycles of heating and cooling. Heated until it's glowing, then plunged into cold water, over and over and over, the metal will become stronger with each iteration.

But there is a price that the metal must pay.

It loses flexibility.

It becomes brittle.

It may shatter.

She forged me, made me stronger than I was before. But then, then she either dropped me or she flung me away from her or she simply failed to take care with where she placed me. It made no difference to me why I struck the ground when I did.

I fell, or I was dropped, or I was thrown.

And I shattered.

I never end up writing what I think I'll write.

Sometimes I get lucky and end up with something decent anyway, but not often.

The thoughts are there, running around inside me, but they flee when I try to capture them. They hide behind trivia and inane bullshit, and they snicker among themselves about how easily they evade me.

Only the weakest among them are ever at risk.

Sometimes I manage to catch one of these lesser thoughts. Then I'll dissect it and expose its innards to the world. And its brethren watch in horror from their hiding places, and they stop their snickering, for a while at least.

It's only a matter of time.

They can't hide from me forever.

I suppose that I haven't been completely honest with myself.

I mean, I haven't really been lying, but I haven't quite told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth either.

The thing is, everything was not wine and roses. Or, to put it into words to which I can better relate, everything was not beer and jasmine.

There were good times, certainly. But for every time I smiled, there was another time when I frowned. For every time I laughed, there was another time when I fought back tears.

Things were hot then cold, or cold then hot. Never warm. Never comfortable enough that I could just kick off my shoes and relax.

Hope would be overshadowed by fear would be trumped by joy would be shattered by disappointment.

Nothing ever lasted.

Except this.

I suppose that, since I've been posting American Idol reports lately, it will come as no big surprise to any of you that I'm a bit of a reality show junkie.

One of my all-time favorite reality shows, surpassing even Survivor, is The Amazing Race.

The 9th season or so started tonight, and I settled down to watch. After, of course, My TiVo had captured enough of it so that I could skip past the commercials. I love my TiVo.

Anyway.

For the past few seasons, I've caught myself, more times than I can count, imagining myself as part of a team competing in the show. But not for the money, and not for the adventure. Nope, I imagine it for the company.

The thought of being with that special person for the weeks that the race takes to complete, to get to know her as she gets to know me, to end our race with something better than any amount of money or pseudo reality show fame could ever buy - that's what I find myself imagining.

And it's always been the same (you get one guess) person, my imaginary partner in The Amazing Race.

Until tonight.

Because tonight, tonight I tried to imagine us together, flying over the streets of Sao Paolo, Brazil. I tried to imagine us together, and it just didn't work.

Her image didn't fit in my head. Not in that context anyway. So my imagination kept searching until it found someone that did fit. Someone else.

This was, fitting for the show I suppose, amazing to me.

I had a similar experience last Summer, and it surprised me then just as it surprised me tonight. Actually, surprised is too weak of a word. How about astonished?

Yeah, that's better. As-ton-ished.

Tonight's imaginary teammate was a different girl than the one I imagined last August. But now, as then, it's not important who it was. The simple and inescapable fact that it was anyone besides you know who is just hugely important. Incredibly telling. Massively phenomenal. Really Fucking Cool. I cannot stress this enough.

And you know what makes it even better?

Do you?

Okay, fine. I'll tell you.

Back in August, the last time I caught myself in a situation like this, I was actively fighting, valiantly trying to control my feelings for her. August, in fact, was just before I bottled those feelings up completely out of the fear that they could not be controlled, only contained, and that they were slowly but surely killing me.

But now, for various reasons, now I'm letting them flow freely again.

I'm letting them flow, and I'm letting them wash over me and through me, and I'm letting them pretty much have their way with me.

I'm letting them control me, as much as they can, but that control has weakened. Weakened to the point where I can imagine another pretty girl sitting beside me in that helicopter. Who knows? Maybe, eventually, I'll be able to imagine some other girl beside me in some other contexts. Maybe, eventually, I'll be able to imagine some other girl that, oddly enough, isn't completely wrong for me. Maybe, eventually, I'll even - get this - act upon my imaginary thoughts in hopes of bringing them to fruition.

Wouldn't that be something?

For the most part, this was a boring and safe week for the girls. I think that reality may have set in after seeing two girls get sent home last week.

2/28 (Girls)

Katharine: She sang some song I never heard before and sang the fuck out of it. Wow. Maybe a little too safe? (85 points)

Kinnik: I don't like her. Nope, I don't like her at all. (0 points)

Lisa: Another song I never heard before. She sang a little too quietly - the music and the background vocals drowned her out a little. What I could hear was great though. (80 points)

Melissa: Hot. The song choice was stupid, and the performance was painful to listen to. (50 points)

Heather: Looked hot. This week, her voice matched her face. A flawless but safe performance. (80 points)

Brenna: She kept forgetting what key she was supposed to be singing in. Some keys were good, but most weren't. (45 points)

Paris: She started with this artificially low voice that I don't like, then she kept reverting back to it for random syllables. I can't believe I didn't like her tonight. (65 points)

Ayla: She's got that Disney vibe again. A little shaky in parts. (70 points)

Kellie: Still smoldering hot, but the performance seemed shaky and/or uninspired. I gave 5 bonus points for being so damn cute. (75 points)

Mandisa: She started out a quarter-note behind the music, but once she caught up she did pretty well. A perfect song for her. (80 points)

Even though Mandisa did much better this week, I still stand by the elimination choices I made last week. I think that Mandisa and Kinnik need to get off my TV.

I think that if I could pick a mental illness to have, I'd pick Tourette's Syndrome.

That way, when I thought some girl was a whore, I could just scream out, "WHORE!!!!" and then when she got mad I could say, "Sorry, I got this Tourette's thingy. Whore. Slut. Bitch. Oops."

Then maybe she'd feel sorry for me and then the whore would give me some pity sex.