So what do you do when something weird happens? Something so weird and unexpected that there is just no way to prepare for it ahead of time? And no way to react with anything besides reflexive babbling?

Like when you find yourself having a conversation that you'd been expecting to have six months earlier? A conversation that you'd thought was never going to happen, because so much time had passed, and so much trust had been earned and built?

Well, I now know what I do when something like that happens.

After the aforementioned reflexive babbling, I go to Rich O's, and I text OddlyFamiliarGirl to come see me. Then I talk to OddlyFamiliarGirl about various things for several hours.

Oh, and I also have four glasses of Marzen (7778) but three of those are gone before OddlyFamiliarGirl shows up.

Still trying to find some decent airfare to Las Vegas for my birthday weekend. So far the cost of airfare is more than eating away any savings I'd get from staying with StupidGirl.

I'm not giving up, though. I just might have to arrive later than I'd prefer.

And there's a very slim chance that HatGirl might be able to get away for the weekend, too. That would, of course, be totally awesome.

There's a place. It's not a physical place, though that's part of it. It's more of a spiritual place.

The place, it's where I belong. It's why I'm here, on this Earth, in this life. To be in the place. It's where I fit, and more than that, it's where the universe fits me.

Problem is, I can't get there. There's no navigable route, and even if there were, the place is already occupied, and even if it wasn't, I'm not allowed in the place.

I've come very close. I've stood next to the place and I've felt its pull so strongly that it's threatened to rip me apart atom by atom.

If I believed in God, I'd surely hate Him, for showing me the place.

Resolve is a problem, of course.

It never lasts forever, so it never lasts long enough. Bad memories fade away and good memories rush in to fill the gaps, and resolve becomes a vague notion of a silly inkling, and nothing more.

And another thing is that there's always something else that I want to say. Not magic words that will fix everything - I've given up on finding such words - but instead an extrapolation of words I've already said. A clearer explanation as to why I am the way I am and why things are the way they are and why things must be the way that they must be.

I guess, just like everyone else, I want to be understood.

After all this time, I'm still met with doubt and disbelief. I'm still assaulted by accusations of exaggeration, still cut by cruel words that would mean nothing if not for their source.

I tried so hard, but I failed. There should be no shame in that; at least I did finally try. There should be no shame, but shame is all I feel sometimes.

And now I'm trying to give up. As if that makes any sense. I'm trying to accept my failure and I'm trying to stop trying.

I keep failing at that, too.

Because resolve is a problem, of course.

I want to go down to the Derby City Classic for a while tonight. It should be the last few rounds of the banks tournament. It should be fun.

But, the thing is, it's supposed to snow. Somewhere between four inches and eight feet, depending on which TV station you watch, and I don't really want to get stranded in an expensive casino when I don't have much money.

So I'd get down there and hope it didn't snow and then, if it didn't snow, I'd blame myself. And I like snow. Plus, my sister Neisha would kill me if I made it not snow.

And then there's other stuff. I can't write about the other stuff.

Okay, so I'm pissed. BFD.

It's my right, and I seriously doubt that anyone would try to tell me that it's without reason.

This fucking bullshit. This situation, as I keep calling it. I got fucking tired of being sad about it, and so now I'm pissed.

It's strange how anger and sadness are perceived, especially when displayed by a man.

Both are certainly perceived as negative emotions. But it's sadness that's seen, much more often (as in every fucking time) as a sign of weakness.

After all, only little kids and women get sad.

Men don't get sad. Men are strong. Men don't cry. Men don't even want to cry. It's not even an option for men.

Besides, it's easier, being pissed. And it make more sense.

I am a man, after all.

It's about fucking time that I started acting like one.

I have a nosebleed.

What's up with that?