So weíre in the horrid, sweaty, arm-pit like belly of summer here in Ohio. Itís like while I was away someone dialed up the humidity to a constant 90%.

Hey, what happens when itís 100% humidity? Are we all swimming? Do we become Atlantis?

Itís weird being at Dark Star two days in a row. I worked my first ìnew dayî on Saturday, and then my regular time on Sunday. All day Saturday it felt like Sunday because I worked about the same amount of time with the same people, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was going to have to get up and do it all again the next day. Even weirder, when I got in on Sunday, I realized that I had done most of the straightening and the like that I usually spend a shit-load of time doing (as I feel like Iím the only person that does it) on Saturday, and I had to dig a little deeper to be the peppy, go-getting self-starter that I am.

God, what a nerd.

I should be illegal for me to be single. I think itís a crime against humanity, not just because Iím not getting laid (Iím used to that) but it makes me act like a total fucking idiot. I donít know what Iím doing. I donít know how to act like a regular functioning human. Most of the time I think Iím doing okay, that I donít need to be paired up, I can just be myself (or failing that, continue on the Journey to the Centre of Myself).

Other times? Wow. Assclown.

Friday I was running around town doing errands, and as I was crossing the street I noticed a very attractive woman sitting on the bench near where I was heading (a ìfly honey?î Perhaps). So Iím walking, checking her out, thinking thoughts, and then *wham* Iím almost clothes-lined by Christmas lights hanging from a tree. And we wonder why Iím singleÖîHey, how you doiÖ*ack* *choke* being strangledÖby holiday cheerÖ*gag*î

I just hate putting myself out there and hearing the wet, smacking belly flop of my social failures. See, I donít know how to do this. I spent my formative years bouncing from serious relationship to serious relationship. After eight years or so of that, I find I missed out on some of that baseline experience everyone else just seems to have already. Thatís stupid because I know itís not true, and I donít even want to be the person for whom that would be true, like some sort of slackjawed, fratboy grinning idiot who can schmooze and get the digits.

But today, it bugs me.

I did more work on ìLooking Backwardsî last night. Iím thinking I may have a perfect balance of knowing what itís about, what I want to say with it, where Iím going with it and not knowing exactly how Iím going to get there. I got to a point last night where I realized I couldnít do what I had originally thought I was going to do next because it would just be wrong, it just wouldnít make any sense. So I had to change it. I know it doesnít sound like a big deal, but it was very liberating. Sometimes Iím too much of a planner. Iím still going to write it in 22-page chapters, but Iím thinking it may be better served as a big OGN (original graphic novel), 110-144 pages worth. Weíll see. I read ìThe Tombî today at lunch, a 144-page digest sized (a bit taller and wider than mass-market paperbound book) OGN, and it was interesting. I liked getting a good, one-sitting dense read. I think serialization can only work in certain cases. Warren Ellis has been talking about this a lot on his email list lately, so maybe thatís why this is running around in my brain.

ìSix Feet Underî was wicked good tonight. I love David and Keith. What a great relationship they have now. Maybe thatís why I feel all angsty, all broken up inside. Like Nate, so messed up he canít even realize how messed up he is. Things could be worse, I could be like Rico, because god knows Iíve been in that kind of spot before, and it never ends well. Claire drives me crazy, but sheís still amazingly attractive to me. I could love a Brenda, but I think there might be way too much baggage there (but hot sex? Most definitely). Things could be worse, I could be like Arthur, and hey, god willing, I wonít end up with more skeletons than George.

I have to get out more. I have to rent some real, non-TV friends.

No life, no life, no life, I remainÖ