Darkness Descending

In the overall scheme of things I am a good person, albeit deeply flawed. I have weaknesses, vices, I don't always make the best decisions, and I'm prone to temptation, especially when I'm lonely. The loneliness makes me especially vulnerable, and acts as something of a trigger for the very worst of my behaviors. Even when I mean well, things can go horribly awry. But despite my failings I still think I'm basically a decent human being. I don't go out of my way to hurt people, even though that does tend to happen.

I'm not sure I can get through all I'm going to talk about in one shot or not. I'd just as soon it all end up in one mammoth post, even if I have to save it in a draft and finish up tomorrow, and the end result is unlikely to wind up in the usual organized essay on whatever's bothering me that's typical of my posts here, so you'll have to forgive me if I ramble and jump around. Bear with me.

I'm fighting a war on many fronts. One is a holdover from the Jen Era, one stems from perhaps the key defining moment in my personal history, and the other is brand squeaky new, but they're all difficult in their own seperate ways, even though they do all sort of intertwine into a big chaotic stew. And here's what's strange: despite the resultant stress and tension, it's all more exciting than all get out, once again proving, perhaps, that I'm only happy when it rains, or alternately that I'm just not comfortable in my life without a good dose of chaos shaking things up.

I guess that's only natural considering that my deity of choice is an ancient Greek goddes of chaos (or you could call her Mother Nature, which is something I added to the Discordian mythology myself). And let's face it, the Wheel of Destiny itself runs on chaotic upheaval. Every major stop along the way, from Shannon to Milta to New Hampshire to Jen to Rugers and beyond has consisted of major catastrophic change to the status quo that leaves me in a new place in my life. While the mechanism had been quiet and dormant for several years before the arrival of Jennifer, last year's resurgence of the Wheel moved me a quantum leap forward towards whatever ultimate destiny is in store for me. Even as fast as things were moving in 2007, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it was really just preparation for 2008, when everything would move to a new level. It's near to impossible to second guess what the Wheel is up to while it's going on, but something is going on and I'm at ground zero.

I've really only alluded to this in previous posts, but I smoke cigarettes, and I have for the last seven months. I can pinpoint for you the exact day that started, too. It took place on a Tuesday at a picnic table in West Lebanon while I sat across from Jen during one of our brainstorming sessions that dealt with coming up with new and improved ideas for bedevilling Sue during our big exit from LSI. And while we sat there she taught me how to smoke. I've been around smokers a lot during the years, but none of them before Jen ever tried to teach me the fine art of destroying your own lungs with corrosive chemicals and nicotine. I know exactly when it started because it was the evening before the day they fired her.

For several weeks I didn't pick up the habit on my own, and only smoked from Jen's packs when we were together and she offered me one. Depending on what we were doing that day, or not doing, an average day consisted of somewhere between zero and twelve cigarettes. But I wasn't buying my own packs. I only smoked hers. It wasn't until that night in White River Junction that I ended up with my own pack, and that was because Jen's friend Jenn bought me a pack while we were making a McDonald's run. And because I had my own pack I started to smoke them on my own. Only a few at first, like two or three a day, but it started to grow over the coming weeks as I started buying packs for myself. I was always afraid to start because I was so sure I'd end up a two-pack a day smoker, but I topped off at 10 to 12 a day, depending on what I was doing, and even that only ramped up during the last couple of months.

I don't smoke in my apartment. Ever. That's an ironclad rule. And I don't smoke in front of the family, who aside from Colleen who knows about this blog, hopefully will never ever find out I smoked at all. So here we have reason #300 why my mom should never find out about Stray Bullets. In my typical Virgoesque fashion my smoking was regimented into specific intervals. At it's peak, as of two weeks ago, it looked like this: one on the way to work, one at first break, two at lunch, one at last break, one on the way home, and two more later on that evening ... which I would go out to my car to have. However, if I went to Claremont, or Lebanon, or god forbid Manchester, it would ramp up, because if I was still driving I kept on smoking one every so often.

I quit smoking pot way back when because it started to make me feel sick (along with lazy and dumb, neither of which I can afford). That didn't happen with the cigarettes, which are Marlboro 100's if you're curious. I just suddenly decided on Monday that I wasn't going to have that one on the way to work, and then that I wouldn't have that one at break, and I took it from there. There was no other reason beside the simple decision that I didn't want to have one and that I didn't want a nicotine addiction to rule my life. I stopped taking anti-depressants three years ago because I didn't want to be dependant on them to live my life, and that's kind of the same reasoning here. Besides, Jim says I never really pulled off the smoker look anyway. I guess it's my boyish face.

I smoked because I felt like having one, not because I ever felt like I was feening for a fix, like I see some smokers get those cravings. Nevertheless, it got into my bloodstream, because quitting wholesale is a bitch. I don't even really feel like lighting up anymore, but I end up having one or two a night still because while I may have decided to give them up, they haven't decided to give me up. Like anytime I've taken a long interval between a smoke, I start to cough. Other smokers have told me it's the nicotine playing a dirty trick on me, not wanting to give me up just yet, actually giving me the incentive to puff on one if only to break up the phlegm that chokes me when I'm not smoking. It's evil. Yesterday around 3:30, after not having a cigarette all day, it felt like my throat was closing up, and I couldn't stop coughing until there were tears running down my face. Today, on Guinevere's advice, I bombed it with cough drops, but around 3:00 again I got the same choking feeling. It sucks. I've already had a couple tonight to stablize the situation. I figure 2 is better than 12.

I'm still fighting the battle. Everyone at work is in support of my heroic effort to kick the habit, and I know I can do it. I just have to beat this cough.

Meanwhile, my peaceful Newport life took a drastic turn into topsy-turvy land this week. I bet you can guess the cause of that, can't you? That's right, it's a girl. But if only it were so simple as that.

I've been getting closer to both Cooter and Amy the last few weeks. I may have mentioned in my Amy-centric post of just before X-mas that the two of them have a two year old daughter named Allison, and that they're involved in a bitter custody battle with her mother over the little girl. Right now Amy's mother has custody and they're fighting to get her back. In the meantime, they have visitations where they go up to Lempster and pick Allison up and then bring her back. For reasons that I don't so much understand very well, Cooter has a deep hatred of Amy's mother, and hates having to go anywhere near there, even for such a good reason as picking up his daughter. So many weeks ago I offered to help them out if they wanted by running up there with one of them myself. And they took me up on that.

I figured they would both go, but it turned into Amy and me making that trip alone each time. And because I have well-documented issues that cause me to get a bit attached to situations like this, I've started to go more and more often. It isn't a case where I've inserted myself unwanted either. It comes about because Amy calls me and asks me. And along the way this mutated in my mind from helping the two of them into helping Amy specifically. I'm doing this because Amy needs me. I don't always understand my own psychology, but I have a deep need to be needed, to be essential to someone somewhere for something only I can do for them. During this time my relationship with Amy evolved into the kid-sister thing I talked about before, and we talked and got closer, and we wrote e-messages back and forth to each other, and started to become each other's confidants about this and that, and that's all it was. Sure, I was a little sweet on her, but I decided that she would be just like a little sister to me and that's all, and plus she's my buddy's girlfriend so that makes her off-limits.

Yeah but. I know. And you know some of my history, including some of the appalling things I've done in the past. Aren't I still the same person I used to be? Aren't I still capable of being a complete asshole at times? Of course. But there's a big difference between 1998 and 2008, and I'm not deeply involved in a comprehensive program of complete self-destruction like I was then. And on top of that, I'm trying to be a better person now than I used to be. The karmic debt I owe just because of Tanja alone is something I'll be paying off for decades as it is.

It's a different scenario, too. Cooter isn't Dan. Dan and I could gleefully steal away females from each other willy-nilly and there wouldn't be any lasting damage, and we'd move on and go forward. He and I were brothers and we understood each other, and we seemed to hit on an unwritten rule of letting the girl decide which of us she liked better. I won out with Milta and Larissa, and arguably with Lori, and he won out with some others. It was no big deal. And that was a unique friendship that will surely never be duplicated. And it isn't like with Kenny either, who seemed all too happy to let me take Shannon off of his hands so that he could get back to playing the guitar. From the minute I got home from work to the time we went to bed Shannon and I were virtually inseperable, and for all intents and purposes I was her boyfriend for that summer, even though I slept in my room and she slept with Kenny. I'm half-convinced that Massachusetts is some strange alternate reality where odd things happen with no rational explanation.

So I'm enjoying this new friendship with Amy and then WHAP--like a bolt of lightning coming through the window and hitting me at the computer, she tells me she likes me. I mean jumping right over the playful flirting that took place when she and Cooter went to Lebanon with me last Thursday, beyond the inference stage, not an if you know what I mean wink wink nudge nudge thing, but let's cut right to the chase and say it. Amy likes me. She likes me and in no uncertain terms she wants something to happen, and I'm sure I don't have to fill in the blanks of that something. This was on Saturday before I was going to head over there and pick her up and return Allison, and I read that and was almost paralyzed. I would specify what I was paralyzed by, but it was about a dozen different conflicting things, and some of them weren't pretty. I can't for the life of me remember what I wrote back.

That ride was a bit awkward, to say the least. It was easier for her to say it in writing than in person, making me think there's something about me that short-circuits other people. For instance, as unflappable as Jen is 99% of the time, she sure as fuck had a hard time expressing herself that night we made the decision to become a couple. And that's only one example. There are others. What is it about me? I would really like to know.

The conversation has continued in one form or another since. Let me hit you with the understatement of the year and say I'm massively conflicted. Do I want to tap into this? Hell yes. Do I feel guilty about even thinking about it, let alone actually doing it? Absolutely. I felt so guilty on Monday morning during work that spontaneous human combustion was a distinct possibility ... and that's without ever laying one finger on the girl. If I do something I might disintegrate entirely.

And so the battle lines are drawn between the little angel and the little devil who sit on opposite shoulders of mine and whisper in my ear each and every time any situation like this arises. Because I am who and what I am, they both have a distinct appearance and I know their names. The little angel (Lori Morningstar) has short brown hair, has green eyes, and wears glasses. I used to refer to her, while writing in my other blog as Libby, as "Little Miss Responsible". The little devil (Lucy Morningstar) has long blond hair, blue eyes, and horns. Don't ask. They just appear as they appear. I can't explain it. Because they are twin sisters they exert equal influence over me, which is why most decisions more complicated than buying milk end up ripping me right down the middle until I drown in a puddle of indecision. Yeah but then if but what about but ....

They don't even take turns. They whisper in my ears at the same time. And even though Lori's voice is full of clearheaded common sense, Lucy makes very persuasive arguments all the time. And even though it's clear what I SHOULD do, I have been torn apart with indecision and inappropriate desire all this week. You can't do it; he's your friend. Come on, look at her. She's hot and 19 and she wants you. It'll crush him if he found out. She doesn't even like him that much. They're a terrible couple and you know it. She isn't right for you. It doesn't have to be a big deal. Nobody else ever has to know. It's wrong. Just wrong. Don't you both deserve to have a little more fun in your lives than you're having right now? How will you be able to sleep at night. She could change your life. She could change your life.

Monday afternoon, between this and the nicotine withdrawls, and my general depression and blahness that reared it's head during the last week, I just wanted to lay down in bed and cry. I was stressed out. And it was the influence of the third thing that pushed me right towards batshit crazy, but not for the usual reasons. I've come to terms with it as something that happened, but there are by-products that result for it nevertheless, and one of those is cold-blooded dark green envy, probably my single worst human quality.

Let's take another look at the Shannon thing from way back. Granted, that situation came along a lot closer to the catalyzing event, and that made the envy so much worse, but there are parallels to be drawn. Shannon came out of nowhere and single-handedly saved me from my horrible marriage by dismantling it brick by brick by brick, beginning at almost the exact moment she met me, as though she was put there to do that, which of course I kinda believe. Anyway, I didn't understand the functions of the Wheel at the time, and I didn't know that Shannon's role in my life was only to save my life and *not* to become the replacement person. Because I will tell you right now in all cold-blooded honesty, I wanted her bad. I was in love with her, and I grew very attached to her daughter Kelsie, and Kenny became little more than an obstacle in my way. He had what I wanted. He had a beautiful, awesome girlfriend that he took for granted. And he had the baby girl that was denied me, and a horrible crawling envy took me over, and when I say I became her boyfriend "in all intents and purposes", that was no accident. I just couldn't put together the last piece of the puzzle. Even though Shannon suggested running to Texas that one day, and oh did I consider that, I didn't think she really meant it.

But I wanted her to mean it.

The psychic whirlwind was already coming. I could feel it. I told Amy through e-mail because we got on the subject of writing and books, and because she told me her feelings about being seperated from Allison and how it was killing her inside, and I told her I understood, and she asked what the thing was that was bothering me, and I didn't really get into it. This was a couple weeks ago. She was genuinely interested, and made me feel that she was, and less like I was imposing this on others, and less like I was making someone uncomfortable by talking about it, which is how I usually feel, even when I'm writing in my own blog about it. It makes people uncomfortable; that's what I feel about it. But Amy wanted to know. And I can write about her all the time and be fine about it ... sometimes.

And combined with the effects of the nicotine still trying to hold onto me, and combined with Amy's revelation to me of her interest in pursuing me ... I was some irritable motherfucker on Monday and Tuesday, let me tell you. Cooter had most of the pieces, but he didn't have that one piece, and throwing the big heaping guilt on top brought me right to the edge. I'm only human. I can only take so much.

So by the time I talked to Guinevere I was almost completely strung out. And even though her advice was sound and smart and the right thing to do ... just tell her I didn't feel that way about her and be a stand up guy ... which is obviously what I SHOULD fucking do ... I haven't. And let's face it, Amy knows. There's no way I can tell the girl that I'm not interested in her with any conviction, because she can see into me. She knows. She knows I really really like her. And even though I have said that I don't think I can do that to Cooter and yadda yadda yadda, she knows I am sorely tempted. And she's aggressive and knows how to push my buttons. Jen knew how to push my buttons because she's a keen observer of people. With Amy it's like she has the manual on me and is reading the instrutions, and knows what to say, when to say it, and how to maximize the effect. I haven't dealt with this level of intuition into my worst instincts since forever.

Yes. I'm sorely tempted. As of this writing, however, nothing has happened. I haven't laid a single finger on the girl, and she hasn't laid a single finger on me. There's been no laying of anything whatsoever.

And the whispering in my ear is killing me.

Then on Tuesday I took a trip right into Cuckoo Crazyland. I was sitting here minding my own business when I logged into Myspace and saw new messages from Cooter and Amy. I read Cooter's first, and it was something about Amy wanting to go to friends, but I didn't really know what he meant and wrote back as such. Then I read Amy's, which was to the tune of "Cooter and I had a fight. Can I stay with you?"

You can call me naive, or stupid, but I thought she was still there, that they both agreed to take a time out, and that having her come here as a safe place to be was something they agreed upon together. So I wrote back, "I have no problem with that."

Then I read Cooter's response to my "Huh?", and he said that Amy left to stay with a friend for a couple days. Oh, so she already left. I was off the hook.

The phone rang. It was Amy, calling from somewhere out of the house. She asked if she could crash here. Was she manipulating me? Was she trying to cause something to happen? I don't know. And I don't care. Because without knowing it she tapped into the one true Achilles heel that I have. If a girl, especially one I really care about, calls me with a problem and needs my help I will respond. I cannot *not* respond. There is a reason, beyond just my good-hearted nature and my desire to help these people I care about. So I knew I was headed into treacherous waters here, but if I turned her away and then found out that Amy got raped, beaten up, or otherwise hurt ... I would never forgive myself. Probably nothing would have happened, but whatever.

So I hope you can understand that, in my mind, there was no way I couldn't go pick her up. From my perspective, even though she and I were already in morally questionable territory, I was being a stand-up guy and doing the right thing for this girl who is, again, like a kid sister to me. But here is where I made what I consider my one lapse in judgement. I didn't contact Cooter and tell him ahead of time that I was going to do this, and that she was going to be safe and sound here in my apartment instead of somewhere out on the streets. It just didn't occur to me.

There was some inkling on my part that she might try something while she was here with me. It has been explicit that she believes something is going to happen, that it's a foregone conclusion, leaving only the where, when, and how in question. To her the matter is inevitable, and where things go from there is impossible to see way out there in the wild blue yonder. My nerves were shot already while leaving my driveway, to the point that my hands were shaking. I lit up my first cigarette of the day just to calm those nerves. How other guys calmly walk into situations like this and screw over friends and cheat on girlfriends without suffering any attack of conscience is a god damned mystery to me.

I picked Amy up in Claremont and brought her back here. She'd asked if she could stay one or two days, which was fine with me, but she didn't want Cooter to know where she was going to be, leaving him with the assumption that she was going to be staying with another friend of hers, one who would cover for her as necessary. And I was at a loss for how I was going to navigate this tricky situation. Doing it her way would mean I'd have to lie right to Cooter's face at work, when I knew that her leaving would be the only thing he'd want to talk about all day. I wasn't sure how to make everyone happy here, and some sign as to the correct course of action was invisible to me right then. I didn't know what to do.

We watched some TV. Amy and I were both on the couch, not too close together, and all of my instincts were telling me that she was waiting for me to make a move on her, that she *wanted* me to make a move on her. But I didn't. And it was only through a hideous effort of will and determined self-control that I didn't, because temptation was burning a hole through my soul.

After a bit we came in here to check the internet situation, and in particular to see what Cooter was doing, because I knew there would be messages waiting for me. In fact, there were seven. The first of them was his typical "What U up to man?", but the rest were another story. In between that one and the rest he'd hacked into Amy's account and read the letter where she'd asked if she could stay with me, the one that I mistakenly thought they were in agreement on. KABOOM. I will say this much for the girl, she was smart enough to eliminate any other transaction that had been written between us, including the one where she explicitly told me she liked me, because she had enough foresight to know he might hack himself in there. The worst of it all was gone, leaving only that one innocent question, but that was enough to cause him to jump right over the moon to the worst possible conclusion. And each consecutive letter showed him to be more distraught and inconsolable. And one of them, to paraphrase, said: "Fine. You got what you wanted. You can have her then." So in other words, if I do ever decide to go after Amy, he's pretty much willing to fold up like a house of cards. Oh, it'll be uncomfortable and unpleasant, especially at work, but it's interesting to me that he's willing to give up that easily.

Amy read all of these over my shoulder. We shared a look, but even as escalated as this situation had become, neither of us panicked. Instead we got into sync as far as the details of what's going on and what the intentions of this are going to be. We started working together like we'd been doing this for a long time, showing that if nothing else Amy and me have the makings of a good Tag Team. My definition of a Tag Team, in this context, is two people working together towards a common goal where the combination of the people is greater than the sum of it's parts. Shannon and I were a tremendous Tag Team, and we both pretty much knew what the other was going to do or say without having to plan it out first. Jessica and me. Dan and me. Jen and me, especially in the LSI context. All great tag teams. Amy and I have the makings of it, but we aren't quite there yet.

I spent a lot of the next couple hours playing message tag with Cooter, trying to talk him off of the ledge. Fortunately, I was fighting this battle in the one arena where I believe I can hold my own against anyone, and an arena in which I can be an extremely charming and persuasive speaker. I was writing it. In person or on the phone I'm never as formidable as I am when I'm speaking through my fingertips. And with Amy's guidance I hit the situation as hard as I could. I knew it would take some effort and time, and several messages, because Cooter is as stubborn as fuck, but I wore him down. I emphasized (and perhaps exaggerated) how upset she was when she called me. I explained that I thought I was doing the only responsible thing by bringing her somewhere where she'd be safe and warm. I re-emphasized, yet again, how much I like the both of them and how I consider Amy to be like a kid sister to me, and that I was the last person who would ever let any harm come to her. And once I got the opening for it, I laid in the guilt trip, too, and said that I hadn't laid a single finger on the girl, and I had no intention of doing so, and that I'm perfectly capable of finding my own girlfriend without having to steal one from him, and that he should know me better than that. And from that ... I got an apology from him. I suppose that shows that I do have some talent for this writing business after all. And yes, I am aware that some less than accurate things were said in there, too. She's interested and I'm tempted, but neither of us are stupid.

With that situation cooled down, Amy and I went out in the living room to watch more TV. Take what I said above, repeat it here. Hideous effort of will. It was not unlike that scene in Pulp Fiction after Vincent Vega's date with Mia Wallace: "You're just going to sit here and watch TV, then you're going to go to bed, and that's all you're going to do." She slept there on the couch with a couple of pillows and a blanket that I gave her. I came in here to bed. Alone. I left her my spare key so that she could come and go as needed while I was at work, and since she had no cigarettes I left her the remains of my open pack, which kind of killed two birds with one stone there. When I left in the morning she was asleep. I had the whole day to figure out how to resolve this situation.

Cooter and I were a little awkward at first, but having hit him with my A-game the night before he was very calmed down. And as stressed as I was over all of this, the temptation, and the nicotine clawing at my body to keep me smoking, I was extremely irritable. My intention after work, which I told him, was to talk her out of my apartment back into his. But his feelings were hurt a little by her leaving, so he was thinking maybe he didn't care if she came back, and I was pretty sure she wasn't in a big hurry herself, so now looking at the prospect of a new permanent roommate and an almost inhuman amount of temptation, I started to get really aggravated. Towards the end of the day I finally snapped at him: "You know what I would really like? For the two of you to GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER."

When I got home that afternoon she wasn't here. Her little pink overnight bag was still in the living room, and one of her pullover shirts was hanging on the couch, but otherwise there was no evidence that she'd been there at all. Anything that Cooter had warned me about hadn't come to pass -- the apartment wasn't trashed, she hadn't eaten all (or seemingly any) of my food (even though I told her to have whatever she wanted), and the blanket was neatly folded up and sitting on my bed next to the two pillows. I just didn't know where she was. The presence of her overnight bag seemed to indicate that she would return, but there was no note or anything, so I had no idea. Even better, I had nothing I could tell Cooter, who I'd pretty much promised I'd do my best for to deliver her back ... or at least deliver her somewhere else. Because I do enjoy her company, and yes she's welcome here anytime, but I was cracking under the tension, sexual and otherwise, and I just needed a goddam break.

It got late. She didn't return. I finally decided to hit Myspace and touch base with Cooter so I could let him know what I knew, which was nothing. And there I found a message from her. It turns out the spare key I'd given her didn't work and she got locked out at about 10:30 after visiting friends. She waited until noon in case I dropped by during lunch (I did drive by the building, but didn't see her), and when I didn't she tracked down someone she knew who could give her a ride to Claremont. So she was home after all. It's probably lucky that I didn't spot her sitting on the stoop, because if I'd let her back in ... it's conceivable that she might still be here right now.

Having her back there at home, and of her own free will yet, took a huge ton of weight off my shoulders. The situation regarding her and I is still unresolved, but nothing has happened, and even as sorely, desperately tempted as I remain, I still have at least one foot on the moral high ground. But it's hard. And the voices are whispering in my ears, and I'm afraid that Lucy is being the more persuasive, despite the good sense that Lori makes. Because here's the truth about me in a nutshell. If I'm uncomfortable about doing something, I can still be talked into it if the person trying to convince me says the right things and pushes the right buttons. Remember that wild night at the strip club where I ended up in the backseat of my car with that girl who Dan liked? All I'd wanted to do was go home. I can be talked into things. And Jen pretty much answered the question of 'If your girlfriend asked you to jump off a bridge...?' when I *literally* jumped off a bridge during the ass-hopping adventure. However. If I really really want something, it's so much harder to talk me out of wanting it. And I may go to Hell for saying this, but right now I do really want that girl.

This morning. The nicotine decided not to wait until late afternoon to attack me this time. Around 6:00 my throat all but closed up. I couldn't stop coughing and couldn't catch my breath. I excused myself to the bathroom where I started to cough some really deep coughs ... and then puked up a sickening, dark colored mass of phlegm. But after that, I felt great. I'm still coughing here and there, but it isn't as bad as it's been the last few days. I think I may have turned the corner as far as giving up the smokes go.

This week has been really nuts. Just the same, I still have things to do this year, and this afternoon I put my best feet forward again after a couple days of not doing much. I went to Lake Sunapee Bank and opened a brand new savings and checking account all by myself. And as soon as I get my direct deposit transferred, I can drop Bank of America like a brick in the ocean. Oh, I tried out that spare key, by the way, thinking that maybe the door just stuck on Amy like it has for me in the past, but no. The key was junk. So I went to Home Depot and made two copies of my original. Yeah, the second one is just in case. Because faced with the same situation again, I'll make the same decision again and let her stay here again, and let the chips fall where they may.

I try to be a good person. I have weaknesses. I hear what Lori's saying about responsibility to friends and such, but isn't Amy my friend, too? Wasn't I trying to do the right thing letting her stay here? How could I have turned her away? But I hear what Lucy is saying, too. I hear it very well. And she is so very persuasive in her arguments. Who knows? Just like Jen was *the* central figure of 2007, Amy is the central figure of right now. It might go somewhere. She might turn out to be a significant influence for the good of my life. We might fizzle out and lose touch in a couple weeks. I can't ever predict what the Wheel has in store.

All I can do is try to be strong. I need strength because right now I am weak, and vulnerable, and prone to temptation, and it is staring me in the face, and I'm trying so hard to be the shepherd, but I don't know if I can make it. And I know I can fall, because I've fallen before. Even before she surprised me with that revelation I was already sweet on the girl. I could deal with that just like I dealt with Shannon, with Jennifer Wood in the 9th grade, with Jacquie, and with others. Her interest in me only makes that more difficult. I don't expect anyone to understand this, but at least you know that I'm trying to be good.

If it were 1998 I would already be trying to steal her out from under Cooter.

I'm trying to be strong.

God help me.