Walking through the door was liking walking into a the open arms of the best friend I haven\’t seen in far too long. I sat down easily at the bar, but when he attempted to take the stool to my right he was told by the girl next to us that it was already taken. I remained seated as he hovered behind me.

He said, \”I think it\’s time for couples therapy.\”

I said, \”Only if it\’s with a sex surrogate so I can get the fucking I\’ve been needing.\”

He couldn\’t get the bartender\’s attention. When he did, he asked for his standard bourbon on the rocks. The bartender inquired if it was for my tab.

He said, \”We have two tabs?\”

I said, \”We have two lives.\”

It was the same place we had shared our first date, a little under three years ago. Three years ago exactly I was going home with the dj. The very same dj who put his arms around us last night and asked if he was interrupting a lover\’s quarrel that was more serious than normal.

Two hours and two rounds later, he wanted to go home. I handed him a wad of cash for a cab. I gave him the keys to my car. \”I\’m not leaving,\” I said. \”Not yet. We always come, then I don\’t get to see my friends. I want to go see my friends.\” He gave me back my money and my keys and then left.

My pals were giddy with my face gleaming from their shirts — buttons courtesy of Bird; two eager school boys queued up for pictures of the girl after Caesar was found displaying one. They didn\’t even know it was an advo for a porno; they just wanted a little token of my face. I felt loved. I left exhausted.

Climbed into Caesar\’s bed and slept my first few solid hours of sleep in days. Haven\’t shared a bed with Caesar since getting drugged at the Gogol Bordello show in 2003. He called me an ostrich for sleeping with my head under the pillow and my butt up in the air; I explained I was just overly prepared.

The sun rose in Mt Pleasant the way it always does on a Saturday morning after a clash: too soon. We lay in bed and talked some shit, the first shit having been spoken in quite a while on my end. I\’d been constipated for too long. Lazy morning hours of sunshine and discourse followed by my favorite Caesarean breakfast: so-called because the delicious coffee and chocolate never fails to put a rumble through my usually-still bowels.

Finally came back to the upper-Caucasia abode. Gonna get me a set of keys to Caeser\’s Palace; a very kind offer from a very kind friend.

Couples therapy, and he wants me to pay for half. Sixty-odd-dollars or so per week to try and put a plaster on something that needs a tourniquet, and I\’m no dummy and no therapeutic-services virgin. Any counselor will spend one session with us and say we both need individual counseling, too. Because I need to sit around more and bitch about how inadequate my health makes me feel in life; yes, that\’s exactly what I need! Dagnabbit, they\’ll have the lame speaking and the blind talking before we know what hit us. Ten years in therapy was plenty for me, thanks; please see my former therapist for a cleared bill of mental health. I\’m as sane, functional, and happy as can be expected in these circumstances.

So, Stimpy, what does it all mean? I don\’t know yet, Ren, I don\’t know. There\’s been some good times here, true, and there\’s definitely still love. There\’s still the gleaming possibilities of the future; and maybe things could improve. But is it all enough? Is it ever? Is it…the end? EDIT: 10:37pm EST, strike out non-personal and bring to new public entry Right now it sounds like bombs over the Pentagon — seriously, I am NOT shitting you. There was a long series of what sounded like fireworks, but Dr Maude and I were scanning the sky, and we couldn\’t see anything. Now the neighbors and us are talking through the open screens — what is going on? There were huge boomings that echoed like nothing I\’ve ever heard before, ever. Not fireworks, not gun shots. And now there\’s smoke everywhere.

AND I SWEAR TO GOD, there\’s sirens coming from all over the city now and larger and larger booms and no fireworks anywhere to be seen, and the smoke is rising directly from where the Pentagon lies in our line of site. And five minutes later, the boomings are still coming and going, and the smoke is amazing.

And more and more sirens, from all over the city and what sounds like maybe Virginia, too.

Maybe it truly is the end.

HAHA. What a way to go.

I fucking love living in this city.

I was wanting introduce Dr Gonzo, whom I\’ve known since I lived in Pittsburgh in 2000, but that will have to wait. Wish he was here now. This is a Dr Gonzo sort of thing. When I met him (in October, strangely enough), he looked like his namesake:

Fucking hell, the smell is incredible.

Georgetown Univeristy\’s homecoming was tonight. GU\’s line of site is directly between us and the Pentagon. They always shoot off fireworks at the homecoming. Seems like maybe the homecoming went horribly awry. The sky is bright down there, as though there is a fire burning, and the air up here smells scorched. The science research labs are directly next door to the football field. Maybe they went boom. That would solve the problem of Dr Maude\’s job being in dire straits, at least. Ha, fuckers!

Still sirens and now a helicopter flying over the area, but there are still jets landing at National airport, so it can\’t have been a huge issue and it can\’t have been at the Pentagon. Drattish.

That adrenaline spike as the boomings grew louder and louder and the end felt fucking nigh was incredible. Shit, man, shit. Shit!