An Analogy
I break months of silence to tell you this:

I've grown yet another mustache, and I've realized the perfect analogy for what it's like to have a furry caterpillar on your upper lip. It's exactly like Helsinki Syndrome. Basically, I'm Patty Hearst, and the mustache is the Symbionese Liberation Army. When I look in the mirror, I don't necessarily see the mustache for the horrible, hateful, radical terrorist group it really is; I kind of empathize with it. And as each day goes by, I become more and more attached (figuratively, natch) to the 'stache. I understand its plight, and I sort of agree with it.

I know that the minute I get rid of the stache - the minute the FBI pulls me, Patty Hearst, from the lukewarm embrace of a bunch of radical post-teens who think robbing banks and attemtping to feed the homeless for a few days with some rich guy's ransom money - I will snap back to reality. I will see my pale and emaciated face in the mirror and recognize that the mustache was just a virus all along. I will realize that I can once again smile at children in an elevator without their parents thinking I'm a creepy molester.

Also, I'm still with my griflriend. She's in London right now, visiting for the week, and I don't really miss her. I'm a miserable bastard, and I'm teeth-clenching comfortable and maybe a bit relieved being alone. This isn't to say I don't love her or want her back, but I suppose I've been scarred enough that I go in to hibernation mode when left to my own devices. But, yeah, my girlfriend's fucking awesome. I completely trust her, and we've both been very open with one another through this whole thing, and it's like no other relationship I've ever had, and probably ever will. I feel guilty that I don't miss her, but we discussed tonight (and, yes, she's calling me from London to bullshit, which is awesome in and of itself) how you tend to miss your loved one more when you're the one who's left. When you're stuck at home, you sort of just deal with it.

Hi. I'm still alive. I like life.