I can't shake this feeling that we're expecting way too much from this. I talked to StupidGirl on the phone for three hours last night. It was, just like always, a friendly and funny conversation. An easy conversation. The hard part never comes until later, when my racing mind digests everything that was said and, more than that, everything that wasn't said.

I haven't been on a pedestal in a long time. Not since MixedSignalGirl. I'm not sure that I like it. Maybe I've developed a fear of heights. Maybe I don't feel like I'm worthy. Gee, I can't imagine why I might have a self-esteem issue.

Mostly, though, I think it's just that we still don't know each other very well. Not the way we should. We only know the best parts, the fun parts, the easy-going parts. I worry about what will happen if we're faced with the darker sides of each other's personalities.

I'm doing something very similar, I know. I'm pinning so much hope on this trip that there's no way I won't be disappointed. These feelings I'm suffering cannot be pushed aside for an entire weekend. Pushing them aside for even a few hours usually requires more strength than I possess. StupidGirl will surely do a fine job of distracting me, but it won't change who I am on the inside. The suffering I feel on the inside.

I can't let my guard down at all. I can't let her see who I really am.

I think we're both expecting that everything will be perfect. I think we're both going to be disappointed. I can only hope that we can rebound from that disappointment.

I just want to say something now.

I'm not retarded. I know that there's a 99.99999999999% chance that I'm wasting my time and that I'm going to die alone and unloved because of it.

But, what if that 0.00000000001% chance is the one that becomes reality?

It's my fucking life, and if I want to keep waiting, well then it's my fucking right to keep waiting.

It's totally worth the risk to me. That's the thing that nobody seems to understand.

How do you explain the inexplicable?

You don't.

You might try and try and try and try and try, but sometimes a thing cannot be explained. Sometimes not even to yourself.

So instead, you demonstrate it, at every possible opportunity, and you hope with all your heart that eventually it's understood before you die.

Although that can be kind of tough, because sometimes you died a long time ago, and you're just too fucking stubborn to admit it.

Sometimes, I really wish that I was stupid. Then maybe I wouldn't always be thinking about stuff, and things.

It's the things that are the worst.

I do manage to shut my brain down, every now and then, but not nearly often enough. I did it tuesday, and it was really nice. But then Wednesday I started thinking again, and in doing so I became retarded again.

Thinking about stuff and things keeps getting me into trouble. It's would be so nice to just tra-la-la through life, without a care in the world beyond what I'd next put into my mouth and where I'd next put my dick.

Like a caveman, or something. They never thought about stuff and things. They just went and fucking did whatever they wanted to do.

Well, I know what I want to do, but I can't. It's a bad idea, I think. It's inappropriate, I think.

And the only thing worse than thinking, is worrying about what other people think.

Taking today off work, which is always nice. Even better is that I'm having lunch with HatGirl.

Yay!

Just took my truck down to the garage and dropped it off. The clutch is fucked - the pedal just falls to the floor when pressed, and it only seems to disengage during the final 1/8 inch or so. I could blame my clutch problems on some stick-shift driving lessons I gave her in the truck a couple of months ago, but I won't. It was, after all, a couple of months ago. And she actually did a very good job except for once on a hill.

So now I'm down to just two vehicles for a while. I feel so poor.

It should be perfectly clear to anyone who knows me that I don't know what I'm doing here. Just trying to muddle through, like everyone else. Trying to make the best of out the situations presented to me. Especially this one situation which keeps trying to kill me.

It's weird for me to realize this, but this really is all new to me. I mean, I've lived with it for the longest time, and today I'm no closer to understanding it, no closer to knowing what to do, than I was when it started. It's very probable that I'll never understand it, never know what to do. And so, I muddle.

Muddle, muddle, muddle...

What a funny word.

I wish I could, for just a little while, know what was right. If I knew what was right, I'd do it. I really would. This is too fucking important to always be second-guessing myself.

Talked with StupidGirl for a couple of hours last night, until my Blackberry died. We put together some plans for next weekend. I told her that the only thing I absolutely want to do is go to the Freakin' Frog Friday night so I can have an Alaskan Smoked Porter for my birthday.

I'm really starting to look forward to the trip. I wish, in fact, that it was this weekend. This weekend is going to suck, I predict. Stupid Valentine's Day.

Speaking of my Blackberry, I forgot it this morning when I left for work. So I'm frustratingly out of touch with the world this morning. I'll go get my Blackberry during lunch.

Of course, I want to write something tonight. I'm actually in the mood to write, but I have no stupid power in my stupid house, so I'm typing this thing into my Blackberry. It works, but it's a hassle.

Both of my cats sensed my mood tonight, and both stayed close to me. Nugget stayed on my lap, and Buddy camped-out on the back of the couch, behind my head.

My fire, in its weird way, also kept me company. It's gone out now. I haven't decided whether I want to burn another log or not. That decision will go hand-in-hand with whether I want to have a third Marzen or not.

I was thinking about something I read once. Back in the olden days, before I was even born if you can believe that, they'd chop peoples' heads off. Criminals, mostly. But also, I like to think, people who were just assholes.

Anyway, I read once that some weird dude decided to conduct experiments with the recently beheaded. Right after the *thud* he'd pick up the head and look into the eyes. He was looking for some sign of consciousness, I guess.

Wait, maybe that's not quite appropriate.

There was a movie I once saw. This one dickhead pulled the heart out of some poor dude. He then showed the dude the heart, still beating in his hand. What a dickhead, right?

So the dude knew he was dead, and he also knew there wasn't fuck he could do about it.

Damn, this entry seemed like a much better idea before I started typing it.

I think it's time for another beer and another fire.

One of life's sad truths is that, far too often, one thing must end before another can begin.

In my case, I must die before I can live. I must.

---

My power is out tonight. It's out all over the place I guess.

I've been sitting in my living room, watching a fake log burn in my fireplace. I'm drinking a Schlenkerla Marzen. It's kinda nice.

Fires are always nice until their fuel starts to run out. Then they sputter frantically, flames licking wildly upward, as if by putting on a good show, they can buy themselves some more time.

But it does them no good. After a while, their fuel spent, the flames die. After a while, all that are left are ashes.

I have plenty of fake logs, and it's still fairly warm in my house.

I'll be okay, I think.