So I just deleted about 100 lines of drivel. Usually I post the drivel, but this time I changed my mind after I fell asleep while reading it.

Change blah blah apprehensive blah blah blah choices blah blah.

You can thank me later.

This morning I stood next to a waterfall, and so of course now I have to take a piss.

I like using the word piss in my journal. It's a funny word, and a popular one. My old entry pissing on the inside gets more google hits than any other, just because of that word.

But I digress.

By an unfortunate coincidence, or a cruel twist of fate, their names are very similar. One right after the other in any alphabetized list that I've seen.

Such was the case in my phone. My heart's desire, followed immediately by my mind's logical choice. Bound together simply because of the spelling of their names.

Back before June, before I deleted LaptopGirl's name and number from my phone's memory because I no longer trusted my resolve, I'd always see their names together. I'd highlight name after name as I scrolled down the list. Each time I highlighted a name that person's number would pop up, covering the name of the person listed above them.

What I'm trying to say here, and I'm not having much luck, is that MixedSignalGirl's entry would cover LaptopGirl's entry. MSG was highlighted, but LG was still there, in the background. Out of sight but never completely out of mind.

And so it was with everything else in my life. MSG might have physically been right there in front of me, she might have hidden LG for a while, but it never lasted. As soon as my attention wandered from MSG, LG was right there again. Front and center, in every way but one.

And again I digress.

MixedSignalGirl and I - I don't know what's going to happen with us. We talked for a while, early this morning, but I don't think we've resolved anything. LaptopGirl may no longer lurk behind MixedSignalGirl in my mind and my heart, but this change will take some getting used to, for both of us.

The questions we've asked each other for all these months have not been answered. All that's happened is that the doorway to those answers has been opened. Whether we'll decide to step through or not, we just don't know. It's too soon. We don't want to act impulsively. Actually that's not right. I want to, but she's possessed of a pretty level head.

Meanwhile, I have a new question. One that only I can answer:

Now that I know what I'm really capable of feeling, will I ever be willing to settle for anything less?

Hmmm, I would have sworn that I started typing this before I went out earlier, but it's not here so I'll start over. Strange.

All day yesterday I tried to make up my mind what I'd do that night. The only thing that I knew for sure what that I didn't feel like going back to Rich O's.

I toyed with the idea of making a little circuit of the four brewpubs in Louisville. I thought about going to Jeffersonville and hanging out with my cousin. I even thought about just staying home and catching up on the television that's been tivoed over the last couple of weeks.

In the end, I went over to Fourth Street Live, which is part of Louisville's downtown revitalization vision. I kind of like it there. It makes me feel like a tourist. Like I'm on vacation or something.

So they were having this OktoberFest thingy, which in Louisville at Fourth Street Live, means that they ID you when you enter the block, and they have booths with BudMillerCoors beers in the middle of the street.

I wandered up and down the block a couple of times, looking to see if there was anyone I knew. I seemed to remember RealTrainGirl talking about OktoberFest recently. I don't think this is what she was talking about, but I figured that it would be a nice surprise to run into them.

I ended up at this place called The Pub. They have the best beer selection at Fourth Street Live. I ordered myself a Newcastle (1684).

While I was drinking my beer, I sent out a couple text messages, and I looked around the place to check out the local talent, as they say. There was one girl that sort of looked familiar, and she caught me looking at her and smiled. Yikes.

After about 15 minutes the girl started inviting me over to join her and her friends on their side of the bar. I declined politely because (a) Her friends were two guys and I figured that at least one of them was probably her boyfriend (maybe both of them from the dirty looks they were giving me), and (b) I'd texted MixedSignalGirl and was hoping that she'd show up, and (c) Normal girls do not invite me to join them in bars. I did not want to wake up in a tub of ice missing a kidney.

Seriously, what is it about women and their radar for when a man is vulnerable?

Anyway, after my Newcastle I had a new beer for me:

North Coast Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout (20)

(draft) A wonderful beer. Intensity everywhere from the aroma to
the flavor to the finish. Dark chocolate and quite a lot of roasted malt. A sweet burning finish that made me want another sip right away.

At one point KidneyGirl and her two guy friends were joined by two other girls - the actual girlfriends of the guys from the looks of things. This left KidneyGirl alone, and it left me with only two reasons to not join them. It was probably too late by then anyway.

I had another of the Rasputins (40).

At one point I got a call from RealTrainGirl. There weren't at Fourth Street Live, but they'd be at Rich O's later. She and GreenBeerDude were going to "show me something." Yikes!

I hadn't heard from MixedSignalGirl since the early evening, so I figured that she wasn't coming. I shot off a message telling her where I'd be, and that I wanted to talk to her, then I drove back to Indiana and to Rich O's.

When I got there the usual assortment of idiots was in the living room area. I stood at the bar, ordered a half-pint of Guinness (871) and talked to Bubbles for a while until RealTrainGirl, GreenBeerDude, and MisunderstoodGirl arrived.

Here's what they had to show me:

Matching tatoos of what looked like a logo for a pizza place or something. I'm just guessing here, but there was probably alcohol involved in their decision to have them done.

So we just hung out for a while. RealTrainGirl and GreenBeerDude were quite animated, probably from the pain or something. MisunderstoodGirl was busily plotting revenge on the world or something, so she didn't say much.

It was a nice end to the weekend festivities, and it took my mind off MixedSignalGirl, who I still haven't heard from as I type this entry.

One of the things that I very rarely ever mention here is my life when I was married. There are several reasons for this, not the least of which is that I have zero desire to revisit those days and reopen those wounds.

I need to mention one event from those days now though, because it's relevant.

I had a stepson, and when he was I guess about 18 months or so old, I woke from an afternoon nap and went to get him up from his own nap. I opened the door to his bedroom.

The first thing I noticed was that he wasn't there.

The second thing I noticed was his window.

He'd managed to push out the screen and, I knew right away, had fallen out the window.

From his window to the ground outside was about eight feet. Coincidentally, that was the same as the distance I had to walk from his bedroom door to get to the window.

Walking to that window, expecting to see my baby's broken body laying on the ground outside - well I probably don't have to describe how terrifying that was. I probably couldn't describe it anyway, not with any kind of accuracy. Easily the scariest eight feet of my life.

So I stuck my head out the window, and I looked down.

There was nothing there. There was nobody there. There was no body there.

We lived in a mobile home, and the skirting wasn't completely installed yet, so I thought that he might have rolled, or crawled, or bounced, under the house. I went out the front door and around the house, trying to imagine what I'd tell my wife if the worst had indeed happened.

I got to the back of the house and looked under it.

Nothing. I remember checking the ground for blood. Nothing.

At about this point I guess I started to panic, because I don't remember much else.

I ran back into the house and grabbed the phone. I called the base police and told them my baby was missing and probably injured. I called my wife and told her all I knew - that he'd fallen out his window and I couldn't find him. I pounded on my neighbor's door and managed to convey to him that I needed him to get in his car and drive through the trailer park while I looked on foot.

I don't remember calling his name, as I ran through yard after yard. I'm sure that I did though. I'm sure that I was screaming his name. I flagged down the policeman that had responded to my call. He was going to drive around and search, just like my neighbor was doing, but he wanted to meet me at my house first.

I ran back to my house, and I sat on the steps, with my face buried in my hands.

When I looked back up, the baby was standing in front of me.

Just as I can't describe the terror I'd felt walking towards that window, what I felt when I saw him alive - there are just no words.

He didn't have a mark on him. Shit, he wasn't even particularly dirty.

I don't remember talking to the policeman when he got to my house. I don't remember calling off my neighbor's search. I don't even remember when my wife arrived. What I remember is clinging to that kid.

Sometimes life provides its own metaphors. I may be the only one that recognizes this one, but that's okay, because I'm the one that needed to recognize it.

I'm awake now, but while I slept she fell out the window. I need to find her and make sure she's okay.

So. I guess my experiment worked.

I spent so much time trying to understand what was happening to me, I lost sight of the real problem. The real problem wasn't that I couldn't understand it, or how absurd it was, or even how much I missed her. The real problem was that it was killing me. Slowly but ever so surely, I was dying from the pain and the torment and the confusion. Once I finally stopped trying to figure it out, once I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I was able to do what needed to be done. I fought it. I fought myself to get my own life back, and I won.

What am I supposed to do now? Why, nothing I guess. Just muddle through. See what happens.

This will take some getting used to, but I've got time now. I've got my whole life ahead of me.

Well I don't think this one needs much in the way of interpretation at all.

The bus is old, like a Greyhound from the 1950s or something. I enter the door and climb up the steps. The bus is about half full. It's all of the people from the bar. I wonder where we're going, and I sit nine rows back, on the driver's side, next to the window.

The first thing I noticed when I went to Rich O's last night was that the new annex area was having some kind of party. Looked like a kid's birthday party or something. Very strange to see that many strangers at Rich O's.

The living room area was a study in contrast. On the loveseat sat MusicalHippeeDude, Nerdlinger, and ButterFace. The sofa and the chair held a bunch of strangers/assholes/idiots.

I sat at the island with WomanRepellant and OldBob's wife. I had a Spezial (800) to start the night.

The doors creak closed, and the bus shudders to a start. Everyone seems pretty excited that we're finally on our way. Conversations start up all around me, but I can't make out what they're saying.

I talked with WomanRepellant for a bit, but I was really just being polite. I was more interested in when the fuck the shitheads would leave the sofa so I could go talk to ButterFace.

CoffeeDude came in at about the same time that WomanRepellant left. He joined me at the island and we bullshitted for a while about nothing in particular.

The shitheads ordered another round of beers.

I still don't know where we're going, but wherever it is, we're taking all these backroads instead of the expressway. The bus leans crazily with every turn we take.

Next I ordered a Weihenstephaner (157). I guess they're on the last keg of this, so I wanted to have it one more time before it runs out.

One of the bartenders was in a shitty mood. That's pretty normal, but it's usually not this guy that's like that. I wondered what was bothering him while I waited 15 minutes for my beer to arrive. I guess it was probably all the strangers running around out front. I'd be in a bad mood too I suppose.

I look around the bus, and I don't see any of my friends. It's just a bunch of people that I recognize from the bar, but there's nobody I feel like talking to.

Nerdlinger and ButterFace pay their tab and leave. They both gave me little smiles and waved on their way out. They're good people I think. It's pretty rare to find a couple that comes into Rich O's and keeps coming back. I felt a little bad for them that they had to listen to the shitheads all night.

Oh, great. Now the shitheads finally decided to leave. MusicalHippeeDude was left alone in the living room area. Meanwhile, CoffeeDude and I had been joined by several PBDs, so I was feeling a little claustrophobic. I grabbed my shit and moved over to the sofa.

The bus pulls into the Rich O's parking lot. Some people get up and leave, but I can't leave because there are new people getting on that are in my way. The doors close and I settle back into my seat.

CoffeeDude and SpikeBoy moved over to the living room area and joined us. I was going to try this Rogue Saison, but I figured that it was probably too strong to drink after what I'd already had, so I decided on a Baltika 6 (236) instead.

So the four of us sat and drank our beers and rattled on about nonsense. We could have been any four guys sitting in any bar in the world. I wondered, for about the zillionth time, just what the Hell I was doing there. I left the sofa and went to stand at the bar while I finished my beer. Then I paid my tab and left.

I make my way to the front of the bus and ask the driver to take me home. He takes me to a ranch house in a subdivision. I try to tell him that I don't live there anymore, but he's not listening to me. He keeps looking at his watch, and tells me to either get off or stay on. He's got a schedule to keep.

I get off the bus, and I start walking home.

*wakes up*

*takes a piss*

"Wow, that was kind of fucked up."

*picks up keys*

*gets on with life*

Being the type of person that I am, I don't seem to be capable of having an idea and simply letting it solidify on its own.

Nope, once something begins to form in my head, I'll obsess over it until I have it properly defined and categorized. If I can't do that then I'll at least come up with a metaphor for it.

I've read that when Titanic was struck, a lot of the passengers gathered up on deck to see what had happened. Some of them reported hearing a noise, but they couldn't describe what the noise was. It turns out, or so I've read anyway, that they hadn't heard anything at all. The sound that they thought they'd heard was actually the silence that fell upon them when the engines were shut down.

They'd simply noticed that something was different, but they didn't know what.

And that, my dear readers, is probably as close as I'm going to get to what I've been feeling lately.

I've noticed a change in the noise level within me. Something LOUD, I think, has either gone silent or is at least running more quietly than it has in a long time.

What does it mean? I don't know, but I have my suspicions.

We'll see.

Damn. It's almost 11:00 and I've got nothing.

I'm supposed to write something here every day. If I don't then I get shit. I get accused of giving up. Of shutting down. My muse won't let me do either.

But what if, instead of giving up, instead of shutting down, I just run out of things to write? What if I just need to be rewound like a watch?

Hey, that's a good one. I'll use it.

I used to have this watch that was powered by arm movement. There was no battery. There was no little thingy on the side that you'd pull out to wind the watch. Instead, there was this pretty ingenious mechanism inside. An off-center flywheel that would spin around whenever you moved your arm, and that movement would wind up the spring.

I am so in need of a rewind.

I guess part of it is just that it's Thursday. Four days of nothing interesting happening. Four days without any movement to wind the spring inside me. I bet if I went back and checked, I'd find that Thursdays have been my weakest days for quite a while.

It wasn't always this way though. Last Fall, Thursdays would freak me the fuck out. I'd get nervous about the upcoming weekend and never find myself at a loss for words.

This isn't all because it's Thursday though. Something is definitely happening. I've been noticing it for a couple of weeks at least. I'm changing. I'm not sure how, or why, but something inside my head or my heart is...

I don't know. Searching for something maybe. Something that it's lost, or something that it never had? No, I think it's deeper than that. I feel like I'm searching for something to search for. Looking for a goal. For a guide. For a light at the end of some tunnel that I can at least get a sense of direction from.

That's not quite right either. Something is missing here.

I think it might be me.

Am I searching for what's left of myself? Is there anything left to find? Would I recognize it if I found it?

Would I run away?

UPDATE: Thinking about this some more, I don't think that searching is the right word. That would require (a)an actual desire, and (b)actual effort.

I think all I'm doing is wondering. Something is missing, and I'm wondering what it is.

I think I know how I'll end this.

I hope I'm right. I hope that all these random possibilities flying around me sort themselves out eventually, and let this little drama end in just the right way.

See, I know what I'm going to write, when it ends, if it ends the right way. The odds are pretty slim, but maybe I can help the odds a little. Because I've already got the ending written in my head.

What's that mumbo jumbo called? Oh yeah, affirmations.

You write something out, or think something through, several times a day and, abracadabra! It comes true. Something like that anyway.

I'm pretty excited actually. I want to write it now.

But I won't. It's not time yet. There have been too many false alarms already. I was going to say I'd cried wolf too many times already, but that's not right. What's it called when you cry out about good things that aren't really there?

KITTEN! KITTEN! KITTEN! KITTEN!

Plus, there's only about three people that would even get it right away. Maybe the rest of you would do a search through my 'blog or something. Figure out where I'd used that particular metaphor before, when I'd last used that particular phrase, and in what context.

I think it would be worth the effort though. I think people would smile once they understood.

And what if it doesn't end in just the right way for me to write what I want?

I'm not sure. I think that may mean that it never ends at all. In that case I won't have to write anything except more bullshit like this entry.

Bullshit I can write. Clever endings, not so much. It would suck indeed if I came up with such a clever ending and never got to use it.