Okay, here's a picture of me in October 1965.

This is what I looked like back then, at least on the outside. It is also, coincidentally, how I sometimes look on the inside here in 2005.

At least my taste in beer has improved since then.

I don't think it would have been that bad.

I mean, I knew it was a bad idea, but it wouldn't have been the end of the world or anything. I wouldn't have said anything that hadn't already been implied (or at least inferred) a zillion times.

I knew it was a bad idea though. Kind of like breaking a taboo. There are some things that you just don't do. No matter how strong, or how persistent, the urge is.

So last night, sitting at Rich O's enjoying my two pints of Noble Smoker, I kept reaching for my phone. I'd take a drink from my beer, take a drag from my cigarette, and reach for my phone. Then sanity would kick in for a second and I'd jerk my hand away from the cursed thing.

This cycle repeated for the entire two hours I was there.

It would have crossed a line, and I've crossed way too many of those already. This one I need to honor. I know this, but as my brain becomes soddened my heart becomes bolder, and I think we all know that my heart cares little for right, or for propriety, or even for common sense.

So here's what I did: I gave my phone to CoffeeDude and asked him to hold on to it until this morning.

Most weekends it's just something I notice and laugh off. This pressure. Last night I found myself doubting my ability to resist the urge to use that phone.

It was a pretty uneasy feeling. Most of the time I'm possessed of fairly strong willpower (except for the smoking thing) but lately it's been tougher and tougher to keep myself reeled in. Last night, I was afraid that the line would break.

Last night, I found that I didn't trust myself to do the right thing. Or to not do the wrong thing. Whatever.

After I'd entrusted my phone to CoffeeDude, I went over to another bar. A friend from Rich O's is in a band, and they were playing a gig at this place just around the corner.

I had a good time. The place had Newcastle on tap, and that was a pleasant surprise. Of course I could only have one as I'd already had two pints of the 7.5% Noble Smoker.

Came home a little after 1:00 and dreamed of what might have happened if I'd hung onto my phone.

Today I watched Rock Star and then School of Rock.

Now I'm in the mood for some Rock and Roll!

Probably won't find it at Rich O's though.

Eliza Dushku.

The guys in Wrong Turn kill everyone else but tie Eliza to a bed.

Can't really say I blame them.

For the Eliza on the bed thing. The killing people thing is really inexcusable.

So here's a list of some things I couldn't care less about.

Note that I said couldn't instead of could. People who say I could care less about whatever are idiots - unless they're actually trying to say that they do care about whatever it is.

As with all my lists, this one is not meant to be all-inclusive.

Those are just the things that popped into my head as I sat down to type this entry. There are countless more. I care about things that affect me and the people I love. I couldn't care less (note: proper usage again) about Martha Stewart getting richer, or about that one chick that just had her feeding tube removed, or about congressional subpoenas issued to steroid-ridden athletes.

I'm just selfish that way.

I know, it's a day late for St. Patrick's day.

One day an Englishman, a Scotsman, and an Irishman walked into a pub together. They each bought a pint of Guinness.

Just as they were about to enjoy their creamy beverage, three flies landed in each of their pints, and were stuck in the thick head.

The Englishman pushed his beer away in disgust.

The Scotsman fished the fly out of his beer, and continued drinking it, as if nothing had happened.

The Irishman, too, picked the fly out of his drink, held it out over the beer, and started yelling, "SPIT IT OUT, SPIT IT OUT YOU BASTARD!!!!"

Yesterday my thoughts were all about excuses and justification.

Today they're all about trepidation and apprehension.

I think it's a Thursday thing. The weekend is approaching and, chances are, the weekend is when the shit will hit the fan.

Probably not this weekend, maybe not ever, but that doesn't stop me from obsessing over the horrible possibility each and every week as Friday approaches.

I've got one hurdle left to cross. One potential obstacle standing between me and my goal of being a sane person again.

This scenario is, fortunately, not very likely. I could actually go so far as to call it unlikely. But I still can't stop worrying about it. Obsessing over it.

No matter how much I try, no matter how often I envision myself crossing that barrier, I just don't think I'd be able to do it.

I think I'd turn around and walk the other way.

I think I'd fling shit into the fan.

I've gotten to know myself and my own capabilities (or lack thereof) pretty well over the last several months. I've learned to handle a lot. A lot more than I thought I could. I also discovered some fragility that I didn't know existed.

I'm pretty sure that I couldn't handle this.

This would trip me up. This would shatter my sanity. Like a waiter that drops an overloaded tray of dishes, I'd lose the grip I hold on my own mind, and drop it. Watch it fall and shatter into a million pieces.

If I could see it coming first, before I was forced to try yet doomed to fail, I don't think I'd even try.

I think I'd turn around and walk the other way.

Watch out for flying shit.

I guess I do some of my best, or worst, thinking after work, sitting at Rich O's while I drink a beer and wait for my food.

Best because I finally get some time to myself, away from the paperwork and politicking at work. I can start thinking about things that are relevant to my life instead of those things that are only relevant to my job.

Worst because once I let my mind start to wander it jumps on a thought and develops inertia quickly, and getting it to veer away from an uncomfortable subject has become increasingly difficult. If not impossible.

Sometimes I actually long for the crazy days when my mind couldn't hold a single thought for more than a few minutes.

But those days are gone, and my mind will ruminate and ponder and obsess over whatever it wants. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it except let it go and wait for the thought to play itself out.

Case in point: Today at 5:30 I was thinking about justification and excuses. Now it's 10:26 and I'm still thinking about them.

I want justification. I crave it, need it, perhaps even deserve it.

But not that way.

People tell me stuff. Either directly or through hints, they tell me things that they think will dissipate this cloud that they perceive around me. They tell me things that they think will excuse and explain.

They think they're helping me, but what they're actually doing is scaring the shit out of me.

If I have to face one of my darkest fears to justify some of my deepest pains, then no thanks.

It's hard to think of something to write when I'm in a good mood.

My moods, like those of most semi-normal people, fluctuate several times a day. From good to bad. From bad to worse. From worse to great.

I know when I'm at my happiest, though. Fives days a week I have moments of ecstasy and relief that I know will go unchallenged until the next day. Until the next time. Sometimes I'll even do it several times in a row, so great is the joy that it brings. I just can't keep my hands off it.

I'm talking, of course, about my snooze button.

Those bonus minutes provide the best sleep of the night for me. They're the best because they are my choice. I take those minutes because I can, not because I have to, or because I need to. I go to bed at night because I have to get up in the morning. I sometimes take a nap after work because I'm just so tired that I need to sleep.

But those nine minutes, from 6:36 until 6:45, those are my choice, and I choose to take them. They're proof that, for a while at least, I'm in charge of my own life. Of my own destiny. At least for the next nine minutes.

Wouldn't it be nice to have a snooze button for life? So that when something so horrible, so unbearable happens, and you know you'll have to face it eventually, you can at least put it off for a little while?

It's hard to think of something to write when I'm in a good mood.

For my birthday card, Dina found this picture of me from the future.