The whole house has gone to sleep. Ferris and Riley are behind me, snuggled up back to back near the coffee table. The back door is open, and the dull roar of the freeway is my constant companion. A solitary fan sits in the doorway, and pulls cool night air into the room.
I always take great comfort in the silence of a slumbering house.
I’m listening to Dark At The End Of The Tunnel, which is the soundtrack to writing Just A Geek.
But I’m not writing. I’m looking at websites all about Urban Exploration. See, this guy who does UE e-mailed me earlier tonight and told me that WWdN is considered “similar” to his site by Google.
Uhm . . . oookay. I told him that I think the exploring he does is much cooler than what I do here, but whatever. His e-mail has spurred the sort of intriguing, fun, educational late-night-link-following that makes Tabbed Browsing the Killer App of the moment.
In the past few hours, I’ve been down forgotten tunnels, and explored abandoned hospitals and asylums (a big bonus, since I read the new Arkham Asylum from DC this afternoon). I’ve stood silent in shadows and crouched behind trees to elude security. I’ve run like hell to get away from police. I’ve visited those places that we pass every single day, but I’ve seen the secrets they will only reveal to the bold.
Is this reality?
Jesus, this music makes me long for another place. Another time. Working on Just A Geek is harder now than ever, because I’m getting closer to completion, and that terrifying prospect of sending it out into the wilderness of readers, Dancing Barefoot has done (and continues to do) better than I ever dreamed . . . I have put a lot of pressure on myself to follow it up with something good, and JAG isn’t quite there, yet. I’m getting closer, but it’s just beyond my grasp. It’s frustrating, to say the least. It’s also hard because, for all the sadness and frustration I experienced when I was struggling through the “gotta make it as an actor” years (I have to relive that time to write the book, you see), it’s nothing compared to what we’re going through now. How I’d love to run down one of these dark tunnels, and never come back . . . just keep exploring forever.
If you peel away the skin, is there anybody there?
I don’t know.
Is there anybody in there, in this self-inflicted tomb?
I’m going to bed.

She put her head on his shoulder. Her tears soaked his T-shirt, her sobs shook the bed.
“I hate that things are like this,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. He wasn’t able to cry. He desperately wanted to, but the tears wouldn’t come.
“It’s so unfair. We’ve done nothing to deserve this.” She clutched his arms.
“I know,” he said.
“Why won’t he stop?” She said.
“Because he can’t.” He paused. “Because he won’t.”
They held each other tightly. A small fan did little to move the hot air around the room. In the distance, a train’s whistle sounded.
“I love you,” she said. She meant it. Did he know?
“I love you too,” he said. He meant it. Was it enough?
They lay there, silent, atop the covers, until sleep claimed them both.
In the darkness beyond their walls, the Bogeyman stirred.

Some good advice, just sent to me by my mom.
I love you, mom. 🙂

Tip: Mental Clarity: Taking a News Fast
Been feeling stressed out after watching or reading the news lately? A “news fast” – avoiding news on the television, newspaper or the Internet for a few days or even a week – may be in order. It is a good way to gauge how you react to and process news, and how the news affects you. If a news fast seems outlandish, consider the following:
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Most of the day today, I’ve been fighting off a brutal headache. (I feel like there’s a knife in my left eye . . . but I’ve been listening to Miles Davis do ‘Round About Midnight while I sit in an empty and otherwise quiet house. There are mighty thunderheads building above the San Gabriel mountains right now, sitting in a deep blue sky. It’s really beautiful.
Ferris is sitting on the floor behind me right now. It’s over 100 in my house (gotta love not having any air conditioning) so she’s panting loudly. About once a minute, her panting is interrupted by a little yelp, or a grunt, or some other noise to grab my attention.
When I turn around, she cocks her head to the side, and thumps her tail like crazy on the floor. She hasn’t moved in almost 15 mnutes. She’s just sitting there, giving up love for her master.
I wonder how long it’ll take for that to be quoted out of context?
I adore Ferris. She’s smart, obedient, friendly . . . but most of all, she’s just happy.
Typical conversation:
Me: Ferris?
Ferris: thump . . . thump . . . thump.
Me: What are you doing?
Ferris: thumpthumpthumpthump!
Me: Wanna go for a walk?
Ferris: thumpthumpthumpthumpthump!
She jumps up, runs circles around the room, races to the cabinet where I keep her leash, opens the cabinet with her nose, and drags the leash to me. And she never stops wagging her tail. This dog will eventually wag her tail right off her body, I’m sure.
In an effort to get my seratonin levels back up, and hopefully remove this anvil from my chest, I am doing my very best to focus on the postive things that I’ve encountered in the past few days. Here are a couple:

• Yesterday, as I was driving past a local junior college, I observed, two glorious times, that the tube top is making a comeback.
• I also discovered that my XM radio works while I’m in the car wash. My top-of-my-lungs singalong with Fred was uninterrupted yesterday, while heavy cloth fingers thumped heavily on my window.
• I entertained myself in an interview.
• One of those clouds I was talking about looked like a giant mushroom yesterday. A portabella mushroom, a few thousand feet across. (Sadly, I hate portabella mushrooms.)
• School has started up again. This means I get to spend my days writing in blissful uninterrupted silence.

I gotta go. I’m going to Hollywood to give an interview to CBS for Up To The Minute. I guess I’m talking about blogging. Maybe I’ll wear The Shirt.
Winston Churchill said, “When you’re going through Hell, keep going.” It’s good advice.

The inbox is filled to overflowing with encouragement, support, a couple of really old interviews I gave when I was a 14 year-old dork, and some good advice.
I just wanted to take a moment and say thank you. It’s really cool that so many people . . . well . . . care.