I haven't done one of these in a while. Probably because it's a hassle.

And, upon watching the video, I saw that I'd said MisunderstoodGirl when I meant to say MixedSignalGirl. Not that I don't also miss MisunderstoodGirl, it's just that she's not one of the first people who came to mind.

As I write this, they're still looking for the kid.

I just wanted to say how freaking weird it was for me to be watching the thing on my TV. The footage of the landing that I saw showed a fairly gentle landing. But then people rushed the balloon thingy and started whacking it with shovels and stabbing it with pitchforks.

Because that's what you're always supposed to do when you think there might be a little boy inside. Either those things or the complete opposite. I forget which.

I was surprised that they didn't whip out their firearms and shoot it full of holes.

Had a dream about her today. It might have been a bit fever-born, hard to tell if I feel like crap because I'm sick or because, well, because of everything else.

It was some huge party at someone's house. I don't know who the house belonged to, but they were clearly rich. Anyway, everyone was there. Everyone from Rich O's, and everyone from my family, and others who I'm assuming were members of other people's families.

It was like a combination Halloween and Thanksgiving party, as there seemed to be elements of both holidays present.

I only got to see her a couple of times, for a total of maybe three seconds, so one might be tempted to say that my dream wasn't really about her at all. But, it was my dream, and so I know the truth. The truth was that I spent every second of that dream, wandering from room to room, ignoring the partying going on therein, looking for her.

I found her a couple of times, off in the distance, but when I moved closer, she had moved on.

I was carrying a little black and white kitten, and I wanted to give it to her.

That was going to be my excuse for getting to talk to her, anyway.

Happy birthday to my sister Neisha!

Okay, I stopped going to facebook for a reason. Maybe a stupid reason, but a necessary one.

I need to stay in the dark about some things.

And it does me no good whatsoever when you people email me with quotes and opinions.

When I fall apart, it's not going to be her fault, it's going to be yours.

The other night, Saturday in fact...

First, HotEuchreGirl came in with her friend who's name I can never remember.

I said hello them, and HotEuchreGirl asked how LaptopGirl was doing.

"I have no idea," I answered. Partly because I had no idea, and partly because it was none of her business, but mostly because LaptopGirl gets mad at me when I admit to any knowledge of her existence.

Then, HotEuchreGirl's friend (HEGF) asked, "But aren't you dating LaptopGirl?!?"

Sigh.

Oh yeah, HEGF also bummed a cigarette off me, and hinted that she was very grateful.

Shudder.

Anyway, then NotHideousGirl came in and I gave her a hug and she sat next to me at the island.

I felt either a tap on my shoulder or a hand groping me. I wasn't sure which, and I was a little afraid to investigate.

"So is that your girlfriend?" HEGF asked me, indicating NotHideousgirl.

Sigh.

Then, a while later, we were all sitting at the island. HEGF was sitting next to HatGirl, and I heard her ask HatGirl, "Are you and Dave dating?"

Sigh.

The funny part was that HatGirl answered with, "Actually, I'm married."

Which didn't quite answer HEGF's question, I noticed.

Sigh.

Anyway, WTF was the deal with HEGF prying so deeply into my (lack of) love life?

Shudder.

Also, HotEuchreGirl looked very cute.

Sigh.

I'm sure that every who knows me would shake their head in some assholish combination of pity and disappointment over what I did late Friday night.

But, Oh well.

How could I refuse?

Answer: I couldn't fucking refuse.

And it's okay. It really is. I feel better now, because I got an explanation of sorts, for the way I've been treated lately. One that I can actually believe, if you can believe that. I needed that explanation even more than I thought. I needed it more than I needed to breathe.

And it's also okay because I got to be useful again, albeit for just one night.

Not that kind of night, you perverts!

And all that stuff about getting to be a part of her life again, and getting to be a part of the kid's life again?

Well, I knew it was bullshit all along, as it was being said, and she would have known it too, had she been sober.

I don't pity myself over what I did, and I'm not disappointed in myself. And I'm neither disappointed nor surprised over how it turned out. And my opinion is the only one that really matters in this case, so the rest of you can go tsk tsk over someone else.

I have too much stuff. Way too much. And it's not like I can look around and ask where it all came from. I know where it all came from. Some of it I inherited from my dad, and some of it was already in my house when I bought it, but 99% of the stuff came from me.

My office is the worst. I don't even know where to start with that room. Books and papers and old computer parts are only the beginning. In the closet are boxes and boxes of random stuff. All over the floor are piles of more random stuff.

Other closets aren't much better. In the closet of my guest room are more computer parts, and a tent, and a sleeping back, and a dozen or so picture frames. My master bedroom closet is supposed to be a walk-in, but it's so crammed with luggage and clothes that it's more of a climb-in closet than a walk-in.

The walls of my attached garage are lined with various crap that I didn't feel like lugging into the house. The entire detached garage is crammed with tools and lawnmowers and boxes and el-cheapo plastic furniture.

And downstairs, the unfinished room in my basement - the official storage room I suppose - is full of even more stuff. Stuff that I've neither seen nor used in ten years. Plus a dozen or so vacuum cleaners. I seem to have a weird obsession with vacuum cleaners. Not with using them, just buying them.

There are things that I still haven't unpacked from when I moved in. I keep saying that I'll get around to it someday.

I have six televisions, at least as many DVD players. Four Tivos, and several million instances of random home theater components in varying states of functionality.

I have two fucking pool tables. Who does that?

Back in the early Summer, when it looked like I might have to sell my house and move away, the thing that I most dreaded was sorting through all that stuff. Deciding what to take with me, and what to put in storage, and what to sell, and what to give away, and what to throw away.

It was all so very daunting.

I'm glad that I didn't have to do it.