I don't know why it happened. I really don't.

A combination of alcohol, and frustration over unrelated things, and annoyance about people that should not matter to me but still manage to do so - all of these factors and more combined to cause me to shrink back from the world bearing down on me. Caused me to seek comfort in the familiar and steady thoughts and feelings that I turned my back on so many months ago.

I don't know why it happened last night, and not at any other time over the last few months. I do know, however, that I kind of like it.

Like an animal raised in captivity, when I became too afraid of the opportunities and obstacles presented by my newfound freedom, I ran back into the comfort and safety of my cage.

But it's okay. I feel safe in here. I feel like myself in here. In here, everything is perfectly clear. All of my hopes and dreams and desires, in here they're all the same. There are no wrong choices in here. There are no choices at all.

And the important thing, the most important thing, is that the cage door is unlocked. I can come and go as I please.

I think I might stay here for a while though. Freedom is scary. Freedom is frustrating. Freedom is exhausting.

(Transcribed from notes I took as the evening progressed. This is the lazy way to make an entry, I know.)

9:15
I arrive. The living room area is full of strangers. The bar is full of PBDs. I sit in the red room and make small talk with CoffeeDude. Mostly about DaveFest. I order myself an NABC Community Dark (200). I'm thinking that tonight might end up being more about the quantity than the quality of the beer. Not that there's anything wrong with the Community Dark.

9:19
I miss out on everything when I sit back here.

9:20
CoffeeDude says that a bunch of them are going to Steinert's to listen to some band later. He's thinking that I might want to come. I'm thinking that it will be nice when some of these people clear out of here.

9:25
If the idiots leave the living room area then I'll probably move over there, but I don't know why.

9:26
I had a dream today where she showed up as a blonde. She was hot as a blonde.

9:28
I think I'll write an entry about what I said vs. what I meant and/or didn't say. For example:

I said: I am your friend, but I have to go now.
I meant: I am your friend, but right now I can't even look at you.

9:30
Some dork and his semi-hot date just took the other red room table. I'll predict a Corona for him and she'll settle for Spaten Lager after being told there's no Bud Light.

9:33
She ordered a White Zinfandel. Well la dee fucking da your majesty.

9:34
Okay, my psychic skills are crap tonight. He ordered a Bell's Two-Hearted.

9:36
Maybe I'll wait for the bar to clear out and sit there instead. That way I'll still be able to write shit.

9:40
Here's another example:

I said: It's good to see you. What's it been, two weeks?
I meant: It's been twelve days, twenty-two hours, and fourteen minutes, since I last looked into your eyes. And now I'm afraid to do it.

9:46
The sweetness of this beer is coating my mouth. I don't think I'll have another one.

9:50
OddlyPrettyGirl is here.

9:51
Piss time.

9:53
I have a couple of small samples of beer that I've never had before.

Flying Dog K-9 Cruiser (4)

(draft) A mild aroma and flavor. There was a hint of spice at the finish. Quite interesting. I liked it.

(draft) Kind of funky aroma, which was to be expected I suppose. A mild mustardy flavor. Interesting enough that I'll probably try it again some night.

9:59
I order a half-pint of the Flying Dog (14) and move over to the loveseat.

10:10
I ended up on the throne instead. Everybody left but HotRedHead and her boyfriend.

10:18
Sorry guys, but Gay Night is Monday.

10:20
I order myself a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (464).

10:30
It's hard to write when I'm sitting in this chair.

10:39
This beer is yummy.

10:42
I'm not interested in the free live porn show, so I'm moving to the island.

11:12
I just spent a half-hour listening to EuchreDude tell his tales of Internet dating disasters. Scary stuff!

11:17
All these memories keep flying back at me. So far they're bouncing off. So far. I take another drink.

11:20
I want to see her. Right now.

11:22
Another example:

I said: I hope you feel better soon.
I meant: I want to hold you, and rub your back, and stroke your hair, and make you feel better. But I won't, because I might not be able to stop, and then you'd have a whole new set of problems.

11:25
I order a Diet Coke so I can kill some more time here.

11:30
A bunch of people have surrounded me so they can use the ashtray. That one girl is hot!

11:31
You wanna know a secret? I think I want a baby in my life.

11:33
Yay, I miss her! Wait, I mean shit.

11:34
To be perfectly honest, this feels right. This feels natural. This just fits.

11:40
At least I'd know, if I uncorked all these bottles, at least I'd know what I was up against.

11:41
This one chick that just sat on the sofa has nice tits. Fake, but nice.

11:45
I dreamed that she was a blonde, and that she was beautiful, and that I wasn't afraid.

11:48
Fuck.

11:51
I was ready to leave but SpikeBoy came in, so now I'm going to stay and bullshit with him for a while.

I don't want to go.

There's nothing forcing me there. I could just stay home tonight, the way I stayed home today despite all of my grandiose plans for a road trip to Indianapolis.

A long time ago, over two thousand miles away, I did stop going. Sure, it felt weird for a while, like I was just wasting my free time by just hanging around my home. But after a while, after a while I noticed that I didn't miss going at all. In fact, it got to where when I did go I felt like I was wasting my valuable home time by going out to be surrounded by idiots.

Back then, nobody even noticed that I wasn't going anymore. Back then I was able to quietly slip away and just not come back for a week. Or a month. Or six months.

These days, I don't have the ability to just quietly slip away. These days, people would notice. And people would think they knew why I was gone. They'd start assigning blame. They'd sit there with their knowing nods and their gossip and their "poor Dave" and they'd all feel glad that it wasn't them that was staying away. That was such a pussy.

If I didn't go tonight, people would think they knew why. They'd be wrong, but I wouldn't be there to tell them that. They'd all enjoy their gossip and maybe even get a good laugh out of everything.

I'm not going to try to bullshit myself or anyone else by saying that their opinions would be completely unfounded. It just that, to paraphrase something I read recently - They can't see the forest because they're in love with the trees. One certain tree, in fact.

So I don't want to go tonight, but I'm going anyway. I'm going to show them all that I have not been defeated.

Yet.

How many false sunrises do I have to look at before I stop being fooled by them?

I guess I should write about last night. Just to get it over with, if nothing else.

I shouldn't have gone out at all. It was a waste of time. Less than a waste of time, actually, because I probably managed to alienate most of the people that tried to talk to me.

Oh, well.

This entry isn't going to make anything any better. There are things that I will not write, just as there are things that I will not say, and things that I will not do.

Last night was mostly about not doing and not saying, and this entry is about not writing.

Anyway.

To drink, I had myself an Upland Winter Warmer (140). It was of course good, but I'd been hoping for something new on the board. Something interesting and appealing. Didn't happen.

I spent a bit of time not talking to HatGirl and LuckyFucker and GlassesGirl and MusicalHippyDude and WomanRepellant. They'd all saved the throne for me, even though I'd tried to just sit on the end of the loveseat where I wouldn't feel like the center of attention. Where I wouldn't feel like it was up to me to keep everyone entertained. But they'd saved the damn seat for me. To not take it would have been rude.

I was feeling pretty claustrophobic, so I'd get up and go outside for a while to try to clear my head a little. I did this a couple of times, but I don't think it helped.

My second beer was a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (430), which was actually quite yummy.

Once InterruptingCow sat at the kiddie table and started, well, interrupting every conversation I attempted to have with anyone, I'd had enough. I went and stood at the bar. InterruptingCow took over the throne.

After a while, HatGirl, probably quite disgusted with me and my behavior, came and told me that she and LuckyFucker were leaving. I apologized for my mood. What else could I do?

Nothing, that's what.

Eventually, InterruptingCow left the living room area, and I went back over there and sat.

I had another Weihenstephaner (447).

GlassesGirl tried pretty hard to get me into a conversation, but I don't think it worked. I did tell her that the 18th of this month is probably the best chance she'll have of seeing my sister Neisha at Rich O's this year. My birthday is Monday the 20th, so I imagine I can talk some of my friends and family into coming to Rich O's for a while on the 18th.

That's it I guess.

That eternity,

was over in an instant.

That single instant,

seemed to drag on forever.

I longed for what I dreaded.

No, my dad hasn't come back to life, reincarnated by some cruel twist of fate as a Bud Light drinker.

Though I suppose I wouldn't complain if that did happen. There are worse things to be reincarnated as. Pubic lice. Opossums. One of Michael Jackson's kids.

Anyway, that little scene depicted above happened back in 1995 or so. Dad's favorite beer, Falls City, had been sold and had its recipe changed. Out of protest Dad switched to Bud Light for a while. He liked to say that he only switched back once the recipe had been changed back to what it was, though I doubt that he really believed that.

I think he simply realized that, in his own way, he was a bit of a beer snob, and to drink mass-produced industrial swill, even in protest, was just too much for him to do.

I know the feeling. I'm a beer snob myself. The only difference is that I choose to drink good beers, while Dad was content to stick with what he'd grown up drinking.

Since I'm the son of an alcoholic, and since I'm also someone that's been known to imbibe occasionally myself, you might be surprised that in my life I only spent maybe six hours total in bars with my dad.

I spent the first fifteen years of my adult life living all over creation, and when I did come home to visit, I'd usually hang out with my sister Dina. Or, when Dad had some time off work, we'd go hang out at one of his places in the country.

When I did finally move back home, Dad died shortly afterwards. That sucked.

I've been thinking a lot today about Dad. I'm not really sure why. Maybe because a few days ago would have been his and Mom's 43rd wedding anniversary. Maybe because I'm tired of thinking about women. Maybe there's no reason except that I had a dream with him in it a couple of days ago.

I've often been accused, mainly by my youngest sister Neisha, of turning into my maternal grandfather. I guess this is because I'm a grouch sometimes, so I'll concede that there is some slight resemblance. Sometimes.

But the biggest resemblance, I like to think anyway, is with my dad.

I already know that many of my interests I got from him. I already know that we shared the same tastes in humor, and books, and movies. I already know that he was a romantic at heart, and that's something I've discovered about myself over the past couple of years. He valued his privacy, maybe even more than I do.

I know what kind of person he was. He was the best. But what I don't really know is what he was like. I mean, we'd hang out at his cabin or in his apartment, and we'd talk about whatever, but there was almost always that father/son vibe going on. I never really had many chances to see what he was like when he stepped outside of his role as my father.

I wish he was still alive. That goes without saying. I wish I'd had the chance to know him as others knew him. To know him as Dave instead of as Dad.

And that brings me back to the bar.

Did he, like me, have a few people who he'd hang out with, or was he more of an everybody's friend type of person? I'm certainly the former, but I don't know how Dad was.

Would he sit at the bar by himself, contemplating life, and be perfectly content doing it? Did he hate crowds of idiots as much as I do? Could he spend an entire night talking with a single person, and feel uncomfortable in a group of more than just a few people? Would he get quiet during those times and just listen to everyone else and make sarcastic comment in his head? When he got bored or disgusted or depressed, would he just get up and leave, like I do?

It really bothers me that I'll never know these things.

If Dad was alive, and we hung out at the same bar, would people guess that he was my father? There was certainly no physical resemblance, but what about the other things? Am I enough like him that people, upon hearing about our relationship, might nod their heads and say, "I knew there was something similar about you two!"

Could I go down to Ramsey's bar in Derby, and talk to one of the regulars there for a while, and have him say, "You know, you remind me a lot of a friend of mine. His name was Dave, too. He died seven or eight years ago. He was a great guy."

Do I carry enough of him around inside me that, in a way, he lives on even today?

I'd like to think so, but I just don't know. And now, now I doubt that I ever will.

There's something that you just don't seem to understand.

When you're in the elevator and it stops at your floor, and the doors open, you seem confused. Allow me to ease that confusion.

At that point, your job - nay, your sole reason for existing, is to get out of that elevator as efficiently as you can

Not to continue yakking with the person next to you.

Not to dig in your purse for your keys.

Not to slowly walk out with your friend while you continue yakking with her.

Not to slowly walk out backwards as you continue yakking with the person who is remaining on the elevator.

Not to almost leave the elevator, but then turn around and block the door so you can continue yakking with the person who is remaining on the elevator.

Just get out of the damn elevator so I, and the others that have been waiting, can get in and get on with our lives.

Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.

You stupid bitch.