April 6th, 2001

A blanket of senselessness surrounds me, envelops me, and refuses to let me sleep. There's a tickling at the base of my skull, nagging me, reminding me that sleep is, of course, good.
I don't like waking up to the phone. The ringing, no matter how mellow it is, is disconcerting. And I knew it was coming. Roger L. wanted me to housesit while he was work. He had hired a couple of guys to install new windows, and didn't feel comfortable leaving them alone. I was there at ten, after he had called at 9:30. Sleepy, I was. Fussed about dragging myself out of bed.
I decided to stop by the comic shop first. Good decision, I think, and perhaps the source of my restlessness. I bought "Hitman" #60, the last issue of the series. I've been following this title since issue one. Garth Ennis has, for five years, never let me down with this one.
BRIEF synopsis: Tommy Monaghan (sound familiar, Cammies?), local Cauldron hitman, was given "X-Ray" vision and telepathy from the bite of an alien. Through luck, both bad and good, Tommy and his pals found their way into some of the weirdest scrapes that anyone else couldn't survive. Some didn't. Tommy did, though. This series pretends to be about a hitman, and killing, and bullets galore. Yeah, those things are part of the book, but what it's really about is friendship. Characters enter and leave Tommy's life, sometimes as normal as a girlfriend dumping him, sometimes the discovery of a long-lost sister. There's always the threat, the overshadowing of violence, but really, this book is about friendship.
I'm so not giving this book justice. I should write an essay about it. Someday.
I'm ruining the last issue here.
The last scene. Natt's shot in the chest, lying on the ground, while over a hundred armed federal agents are running towards him. On the other side is a helicopter, the escape. Tommy and Maggie have made it. They're ready to take off. Tommy realizes Natt's on the ground, in no shape to move. Natt begs Tommy to kill him, to not let him be caught by the feds. Legitimate request, because Natt knows the feds are trying to recreate the accident that gave Tommy his powers, and doesn't want to be a guinea pig for that.
And I think Tommy's going to do it. I think he's going to have to kill another friend to save him from pain. I'm so wrong.
Tommy jumps out of the helicopter, gun aimed (one hand has been destroyed by a sniper's bullet), and pops the fed leader right between the eyes. Those two frames, Tommy running with his gun firing, a smile on his face, Truman's shocked look as the bullet enters his brain...so priceless. So Hitman.
At the end, Tommy is shot up, and falls next to Natt, who's still breathing. They have a brief exchange. Basically, it's in reference to a dream Tommy had a few months ago, about how his old, dead friends were at the bar, laughing and drinking beer and happy. Then, they died.
I miss my friends today. The ones that haven't made it. I miss the potentials I've had to be someone's Tommy, keeping their back safe until...well, forever.
Sometimes there's no point to life at all. It's life. That's point enough.

"Relax.
Don't do it."
--Frankie Goes to Hollywood

April 9th, 2001

My weekend kicked ASS.
It's too hot, though. I hate it when the temperature rises above 80. Ugh, and double ugh.
Rearranged my apartment a bit. My best friend helped me. She even set up my computer. Not sure why I felt the need to do it, though. I wanted to have more space, I guess. It's a tiny apartment, but it's home for me, and I try to make it inviting for my friends. I usually have folks over on the weekends, and I want them to feel comfortable and such. We usually have a good time joking about the game.
Pull my finger. Heh.
My computer is now in the living room area. I think this is good. I have easy access to more media in here, especially now that I have cable. I can write and still keep up with the boys and girls over in China. That is one messed up situation. I'm very worried about it. I also have quick reach of all my literary books and White Wolf books and just books in general. Music, too. I should have done this months ago. When I moved in here back in December, this room had three stacks of CDs in a corner, and nothing else. And that's the way it stayed until late January. Now, it's my Sanctum Sanctorum.
I even have purple lights strung up. Spooooky.
All of my comics actually fit in the one closet I have. My bedroom has the bed and the smaller futon in it. It's much roomier, but I doubt that it will matter. I didn't even sleep in there last night.
Change can be good. It doesn't necessarily have to be good, but it can be. I feel a sense of order now. Sure, there are some piles of papers and books lying around begging for a home, but overall, I'm content with the new arrangement. Makes me want to WRITE, and that's so important now. I have some pretty nifty ideas, and also want to start sending out for submission guidelines for some literary journals and maybe a comic book company or three.
I want to throw the frisbee around.

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