Every now and then, I get something.

A certain look, or a word, or a touch. It's never much, or almost never much, but it's always something.

People ask me why. All the time, people ask me why.

Because, every now and then, I get something.

Wow.

I'm fooling myself, of course. Sitting here acting like I'm in control of things for a change. Pretending so hard that I have a choice, and then actually believing it.

Anyway, my dreams these last eight days have all been the same. Oh, not exactly the same - the details vary - but the theme stays the same.

In my dreams, I'm so happy. But then, all of a sudden, something happens, and I want to die. Sometimes, in my dreams, I get to die, but usually not. Usually I just want it, but I wake up instead. I suppose that waking up from a dream is a form of death, at least for the dream version of myself.

And they're not really all that disturbing, as nightmares go. I know it probably seems that way to someone reading about how I want to die and stuff.

But they really are just dreams, after all. A consequence of the random firing of neurons which my sleeping brain tries to interpret. Usually with some current events thrown into the mix for context, and maybe some metaphors for added color and intrigue.

I'm in a mood right now, of course. Lying to myself, saying that everything's going to be okay. Which is ludicrous, seeing as how I don't even know what okay means anymore. I mean, maybe this is it, glaring at my phone, waiting for that little red light to illuminate. Maybe this is okay.

Wow, the damn thing just lit up. It's so pretty.

She's very pretty, in case you can't tell that from the picture.

So, this may be it for me. If the pictures keep coming, I might not last the day. And it might be worth it.

So many problems, waah, waah, waah. I get so fucking sick of it. Sick of every moment of happiness being spoiled by the knowledge that it will never last, because I'm not a cocksucking douchebag and that's apparently what's required.

Doubly-sick of the fact that I haven't even been able to write about those times when I've been happy, not even a little bit. And I have been happy, dammit. I've been happy a lot these last several months.

I also, of course, can't write about being sad, but I've still managed it from time to time. When it's too much to bear alone, I share it with you readers. Like right now. Spread it out or something. But still no specifics, still nothing telling.

I am a good person, after all. Not a cocksucking douchebag.

Lot of fucking good that's done me.

I wonder what would happen, if I just wrote right here, right now, about those things which have been bothering me lately. Especially this past week.

Would it be read?

Would it be understood?

Would it be believed?

Because I've been right here dealing with it, and I sure as fuck can't believe it.

I'm not going to write shit, though. It's not my place, not my job.

And I am a good person, like I said. And I will die alone and unloved despite that fact.

I need some goddamn resolve, that's what I need. So if any of you have any resolve to spare, can you help a brother out?

I'll pay you back double in a couple of months.

Go here and read that old entry, then come back.

I'll wait.

La-la-la...

Ho hum...

Okay, what took you so long?

I wrote that over two years ago, and not a fucking thing has changed. The opinions I expressed back then are still my opinions.

And they're still right.

There was no way I could risk another "normal" Saturday night. Nope, not with the week I'd had. Any other blow would have been a fatal one.

So I decided that I'd go to Covington. I'd go there and I'd drink some OTR beer and I'd be far away - physically at least - from my life with all of its perils.

But noooooooooooooo!

Some crap happened at work, and I was informed that I'd need to stay close to home, in case things got worse.

So, at around 3:00, I had a brilliant idea. I texted HatGirl to see if she wanted to hang out.

She said yes!

HatGirl!

Yay!

We had a lot of fun just talking and hanging out. We went down to our local casino, ate too much food at their buffet, then drank too much beer at this Legends bar. Or I guess she drank too much beer - I was perfectly fine.

And now this makes two nights in a row, two different girls I've hung out with, and both have gotten sick. I guess I just have that effect on women. This is something I've long-suspected.

Anyway, I adore HatGirl, and she was exactly what I needed last night. After the horrible week I'd just been through, and which promised to spill over into the upcoming week, she was the perfect reminder of why it's sometimes worth the effort to keep breathing.

Okay, so in my last entry I said that I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

Now, I know.

I want to wake up and find that it's 2003, sometime before the Fall of that year.

I keep pinching myself, but I can't fucking wake myself up.

This has to be a nightmare.

It can't be real.

I wonder, what's supposed to happen next?

The future, it was always so clear to me before. I didn't know when and I didn't know how, but I knew what and I fucking absolutely knew why.

For years, I've been focused on one ideal, to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. Skimming above the surface of life, never quite letting myself pause and just enjoy things. Not with that wonderful future somewhere up ahead. For me, there was nothing but patience and desire, bound together.

Now, suddenly, it's different. I find myself back in that gray place I left so long ago. It hasn't changed, and I find, to my surprise, that I haven't changed that much either. I still, after months of happiness peppered with sorrow, I still average-out the same. I still belong here, alone with my own thoughts and feelings. It feels like home to me, and now I'm back, because my vacation is over.

I don't even know what I want anymore. The universe has once again shifted around me while I've stood transfixed. That which was beautiful has twisted into something ugly. That which was wonderful has transformed into something horrible. That which was desired has turned into something...

Now that's the weird thing.

It's still desired.

I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what to do. Or say. Or feel.

Simply waiting to die seems like a bad idea, as well as a boring one. I wish I could think of a better idea, but I'm fresh-out.