So...

It begins again where it began before. I was tempted to start yet another blog to avoid posting this here.

Tonight was perhaps a mistake. I accepted an invitation, and it all was no big deal. But her body language tonight said otherwise. I still had a good time, but I do now question the decision. I'm always worrying aren't I?

My ex-girlfriend's birthday party. We're friends now, you see. Moved on but kept in touch. Inviting me was one of those "good idea until it actually happens" situations. Not that I did anything wrong. I think. But there was the body language. And a few other signs. I think she may have been embarassed to have been seen with me with her other friends around. Or thought better of the invite. Or something. Maybe she was just not having a good time and the world doesn't revolve around me. Sometimes I see problems where none exist.

So, I eventually excused myself.

I headed to O'Hanlons. I was hoping to catch Jules there. Intellectually I know two things about Julie. Number one is that she wouldn't be right for me. She drinks regularly and plays poker obsessively. Number two is that she would never date me. That's not to say that she's not interested, but I'm sure she has her own list of things she "knows about me".

Nonetheless I hoped to see her there. It was my first time, and like a ghost of the Irish pub I went to in Vancouver, O'Hanlon's was filled with a mix of neo-punks and old folks. It might be worth visiting again, it might not. But back to Julie. I keep feeling drawn back to women that would have nothing to do with me, and would not be a good match for me. Something inside me yearns for constant rejection apparently.

I stayed long enough to enjoy a song or two by the live band, stop enjoying the live band, then suffer through a rendition of Neil Young's Cinnamon Girl. I left.

I hadn't thought to bring my CD player's faceplate, so I was music-less while I drove to Burger King for a snack that was readily available rather than waiting for the pizza I actually craved. After that, home for the faceplate. Then the music truly started to deafen me, but it was mine, or at least the selections were mine. I don't write music anymore really.

Drove around awhile, came home.

Futility mixed with the realization that I'm nearly 40, and as much as I regret not having done something with my 30s, I'm going to regret not doing something with my 40s if I don't get off my ass and... well, do something.