I haven't done one of these for a couple of years, but it's time. It's definitely time.

I'm taking some time off. You won't be missing anything.

Or maybe not.

Sometimes it really irritates me, being unable to write the things that I most want to write.

But I should get over it.

Also, I don't like stupid games.

Sitting at Rich O's, at night. Stupid, I know. I was going to sit over on the weirdo Sportstime side, but they were packed. Over here, at least I'm able to sit.

Anyway, I kinda feel like I should be writing something about some thoughts that have been rattling around in the dark places inside my head. Thoughts that will neither go away nor venture into the light. Because these thoughts have never been fully illuminated, I fear that this entry will probably be disjointed crap. This is in contrast to my usual drivel, which is at least somewhat jointed, and sometimes it's not even crap. You have been warned.

---

The thing is, I only meant to make a statement. To finally get the entire truth out there. I'd say something like laying all my cards on the table, but this is no fucking game to me.

I realized that I was taking a very serious risk, but frankly, at the time, I didn't feel like I had much left to lose. I was rapidly dying anyway. So it was, at least partly, an act of desperation on my part, the statement that I made. I guess I wanted my dying words to mean something. More than that, I wanted them to be heard. And they were. They certainly were.

But all along, from the time I started considering it, through the time I was saying it, and even during the conversation that ensued, it was always a statement. Telling the truth, and nothing else.

It was never a question.

It was certainly never a request.

So why, I wonder, why do I wait so impatiently for an answer to a question I never asked?

Why, I wonder, do I long for a response to a request I never made?

This is my dilemma.

I could have asked the question, but the question wasn't the point. The statement was the point. Besides, deep down I knew that I wasn't ready for the pain that the answer might bring. I could have even made the request, but it would have been ludicrous to do so, without the answer to the question. I may be insane, but I'm not that insane.

The statement leads to the question leads to the request. That's just the way it works. And I stopped at the statement. I stopped myself, or she stopped me. I don't know. All I know is that I did stop, rather abruptly. Jarringly, you might say.

Which was fine with me. That had been my plan, such as it was, when I started. But I screwed up. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was distracted, after all.

See, I didn't need to ask the question, and I didn't need to make the request.

They were implied. Or inferred. Whatever.

And so, now I wait. For an answer to a question I never quite asked, and for a response to a request I never quite made.

This is my dilemma. This is my life.

Had lunch with HatGirl today.

Usually, I have something extra to add, whenever I mention HatGirl. But this time, I'll let her awesome t-shirt say it for me.

Got to have lunch with HatGirl Wednesday. So that was an awesome surprise. And we're having lunch again Saturday, so yay!

---

Then I had a long-overdue talk with TremensGirl after work. The overdue part could basically be summed-up as I'm a dick.

The other part of the conversation consisted of me asking, "What's wrong with me?" and TremensGirl essentially replying, "Everything."

So, that sucked, though I can't say I was really surprised. At least she didn't suggest that I misrepresent myself. Nope, she said that I needed to actually change who I am and what I feel. Like I wouldn't have done that a million years ago if I knew how.

But it was a nice conversation, and I really appreciate her candor.

---

I think I've slept about two hours per night starting Monday night. Surprisingly, this isn't even close to my personal worst, but I'm still pretty damn tired.

---

I have no middle anymore. It's a really disconcerting feeling, jumping from one extreme to another with nothing in between.

---

Oh yeah, I got to see OddlyFamiliarGirl Wednesday night! It had been a million bazillion years.

---

This is stupid. I have nothing to say.

Well, I did it.

I said the most important words I've ever said, to the most wonderful person I've ever known.

I told her everything. Ev. Rey. Thing.

And now...

I just don't know.

I've got nothing left. I've done all I can do. I've said all I can say.

Maybe I've ruined everything. But if I did, at least it was with the truth. If those words turn out to be my final words to her*, then it's fitting that they were also the most important. The most real.

And the most overdue. Mustn't forget that.

---

It's so tempting to stop now. Writing. Talking. Communicating in any way with anyone at all.

It all seems so trivial to me now.

Lesser purposes and all that...

* - They were not.

A long time ago, before I was even born if you can believe that, I guess a bunch of people wore buttons saying "I like Ike."

You know, because of Eisenhower or however it's spelled.

Well, I think I'd like to introduce a new button. Mine will say "Ike can suck my hairy ass."

You know, because of the hurricane.

For those just tuning in, I live in Southern Indiana. Tornado country. Maybe earthquake country. But not fucking hurricane country.

Well, somebody must have missed a memo or something. That damn hurricane Ike refused to die after wreaking havoc down South where it belonged. Nope, it continued Northeasterly with its hurricane-force winds, and wreaked havoc upon the Louisville area too. Upon my area.

Everybody is affected. Some in worse ways than others. I, for example, have not had power since noon on Sunday (UPDATE: Power came back at 8:30 PM Tuesday). I lost some big-ass branches, and a couple of big trees either fell or split in half. There are millions of twigs and leaves littering my lawn, and some in my living room that are really perplexing me.

But all of that I can deal with. The thing I may not be able to deal with is this:

That, readers, is my swing. Or the pile of rubble formerly known as my swing. Fucking Ike took it out completely. Ripped it right out of the ground.

I'm sad about this. Much sadder, I'm sure, than I should be. "It was just a swing, after all," people will say.

But, to me, it was really much more than that. To me, standing there Sunday afternoon, it was almost like I'd lost a friend.

I couldn't help but think of the dozens of times I'd sat on that swing with MixedSignalGirl, or the millions of times I'd sat there without LaptopGirl, or all of the other times when I'd just go out there to relax and not think about anything for a while.

It just makes me sad that it's gone.

Let me put it this way: If Ike had destroyed my house, and my detached garage, and my swing - I'd replace my swing first and then worry about the trivial structures.

---

I wrote the above, in my little notebook, while sitting in that same coffee shop, next to that same lovely companion. Trying to feed off her creativity, I suppose, and not really succeeding. I was distracted, after all.

Now I'm across the street at Bearno's. Drinking a Goose Island Honker's Ale (132), scribbling in this notebook, and watching my phone. There's a chance that I might hear from her again tonight. There's a smaller chance that I might get to see her again tonight. So I'm waiting.

There's no sense in going home. No power there, and not even a single bar of reception on my Blackberry - just "SOS."

And, of course, she's not there either. So, I'll wait for a while. She's worth it.

That's what it says right on every bottle of Stone Arrogant Bastard: You're not worthy

Pretty clever thing, if you ask me. Take a playful jab at your potential customers. Challenge them, dare them to try to drink you.

Anyway, I'm not worthy, apparently.

I bought two 22 oz. bottles of the stuff last night. My plan had been to (a) sit on my swing, (b) glare at my phone, and (c) get as plastered as a lightweight like me can get.

What actually happened, though, was that I had one bottle of the stuff (88), then about four ounces of the second bottle (92) and that was it. I didn't get plastered. Not on 26 ounces of 7.2% beer. But I did get a little queasy in my stomach. That's when I realized that I hadn't eaten a single speck of food all day. Nothing since 6:30 Friday night, actually, when I'd had a little pizza at Rich O's.

So the final part of my grand plan was amended to (c) drink some water.

I'm worthy of water, in case you doubted that.

Somebody needs to say it. I shouldn't be the one. My objectivity would be doubted, and with good reason.

But just because I can't be totally objective doesn't mean that I can't be right.

Abusive relationships take many forms. Some are easier to recognize than others. The symptoms vary, but they all have the same solution.

I would say the same thing to anyone.

This is what has become of me. I exist for one reason.

To search, forever, for something that isn't there.

I need to stop searching, but I don't think I can.

It's too late. I'm in too deep. I can't stop. I can't give up. I won't.

Maybe there's nothing, but it's all I have.