Why the angsty build-up? Because it helps to explain the following conversation between a man and himself. Well, let's reserve judgement on the "man" label for the moment, because I'm just using it to identify the gender of those involved, not the maturity.

The damnable thing about self loathing is that it attacks you at your weakest and doesn't relent until it pulverizes any semblance of self worth within you into dust. Making the revealing of your ex-girlfriend's wedding the perfect instigator, 1:26 in the morning the perfect time, and a cheap studio apartment a block from the elevated subway line with a screaming toddler behind one wall and a bickering couple behind the other the perfect place.

"How's it going, Shit For Brains?" asked the voice-over.

Yep, that's the name it had given me. This was my self-loathing after all. The name I gave to it was My Worst Enemy. It never appeared to me outright, but preferred to speak at me in voice-overs from the safety of the shadows.

"Always said I love this pad."

Couldn't afford the other one after the company went bankrupt, remember?

"Just the kind of place I'd want to bring a girl if I wanted her to think that I was a complete and total loser. Which you are."

Oh, go fuck yourself.

"No, that's your job. You toss off. I'm the one who kills the buzz by reminding you it'll never happen in real life. You've got your job, I've got mine. 'Fucking off' is definitely your job."

Give it a try yourself, asshole. You might like it.

"Nah, I prefer the real thing: Lisa."

I thought my heart stopped in cardiac arrest as that name resurfaced again.

Lisa was still on my mind. Hell, she was all that was in my mind now, five years after the fact. Her memory was obeying Boyle's Law and pushing out every other conscious thought. She had always been a ghost in the background scenery, always been the standard by which I judged all other women, but her visage was not omnipresent. Learning that she was now married had not only strengthened her ghost, it resurrected her corpse to where it now shambled in zombie fashion about in my brain and sent all other thoughts screaming in fear. It had been impossible to concentrate on work. It had been impossible to ignore her specter through my solitary dinner or through music or Internet browsing or old televised reruns.

"Man, Lisa was the real deal: smart, fun, and damned hot! And you fucked it up! Congratulations, Shit For Brains!"

We've covered this like, what? Two million times already? How about something constructive for a change? Like, maybe, some insight into what I did wrong?

"Hey, I don't make the news, I just report it! Not my fault if it sucks, just like this celibate lifestyle you seem to be content with leading. How can a guy get along with only his right hand for company?"

Beats the alternative.

"Huh huh huh! Hey, Beavis! He said, 'beats'!"

Shut up.

"Hell, I'm even missing Donna. Now, there was a girl who was into us!"

I've met serial killers with a warmer heart than hers, remember?

"Details, shmetails. At least you wouldn't be a total loser!"

True. I'd be wanted in five states and the District of Columbia.

"You're being too damned picky."

You know, maybe you'd be much easier to handle if I drank.

"You don't like me when you drink, remember? You lose control of me. The Hulk's got nothing on us when we drink. But gotta admit that smashing shit sounds like fun right about now, especially smashing something over that couple's teeth next door. Why don't they just play Hide The Cannoli and get it over with?"

You're so damned smart, you go over and handle it.

"What would our Old Man say about you now, huh? Hiding in this flea-ridden hole straight out of a Charles Bronson movie? Scared of everyone? 'Walk tall in life,' my ass. Damned embarrassment to the family name. He's probably disowned you by now, you fucking coward."

You might want to turn that knife you're stabbing me with in the chest counter-clockwise this time. I'm getting used to the clockwise twist.

Someone chose that time to dial my cellphone by mistake. The child behind one wall heard it and cried louder. The couple behind the other wall somehow heard it over their own bitch session and started pounding on the wall with shouted threats of calling the superintendent if I didn't keep it silent on my side of the wall. Although I was wide awake, I had to squint to read the display. It was not a number that I recognized. I answered to someone asking if he could "score a doob." Because my father and his probable opinion of me had been fresh in my mind, I introduced myself using his name and rattled off his badge number. The line went as dead as Tonya Harding's career.

I weighed the phone in my hands for long moments after the call dropped. Desperation drove me to open my contact list.

"What'cha doin', dumbass?"

Yeah, go for the jugular with Lisa's old catchphrase...

I scrolled down through the alphabet in my contact list. Her number was still there.

"Not content with being the city's biggest ass? Trying for the world heavyweight title?"

I'm not going to call her.

"Yeah, right. That's why you're looking at her phone number like Gollum looking at the Ring. Because you're not going to call. Bullshit."

I can't get her out of my mind. Everything reminds me of her lately. Even you, since you can't stop bringing her damned name up!

"Stop playing with nuclear waste and put the damned phone down!"

Why? Why are you scared about it? What the fuck do you care if I complete my journey into Complete Assdom? Hell, you should be enjoying this!

"Because this can only end badly, very badly, or Universe Imploding Badly! Because I don't want to end up in a jail cell next to you! Because your ass is my ass, and I don't want Bubba stretching it to fit his purposes, if you get my drift!"

God, Lisa, why couldn't you tell me what I did wrong?

"Man, you're really starting to bore me with this soap-opera of yours. Why don't you do something safer and look for Donna's number in there? That would at least be a real action flick that I could enjoy!"

Because I can't endure another six months of trying to end it for the price of a one-night stand. And because she might kill me on sight. And because I deleted her number on purpose just so you wouldn't get your damned hands on my phone and dial it.

"You're not leaving me much of an option outside of Internet porn. Go on; log on and toss off a bit. Might relax me enough to left you off the hook lightly tonight."

I tried to ignore him as I stared longingly at ten digits that I knew by heart, a code that used to be the combination to my happiness and was now the serial number on my Sealed Can Of Heartache.

"I don't fucking believe this! I can't believe you're even thinking about this! Even you can't be this stupid! Put down the damned phone!"

One simple call. What could that hurt?

"You! Me! Her! Me! Especially ME!"

But maybe enough time has passed.

"Enough time for what?"

Closure... maybe?

"Closure?! What kind of afternoon-talk-show psychological horseshit is this?! She's married now, idiot! That's about a closed as any door can possibly get! Closed, locked, barred from the inside, Doberman attack dog guarded! Closed! And just to make sure she welded it shut, she's playing for the Other Team now! This is a 'never' as 'never' can get!"

I just...

"Just what?!"

I just... have to know... what I did wrong...

"She never would tell you before when she cared and you tried. What the hell makes you think she's going to tell you now that she's sworn you off forever?! Man, you can be so damned stupid!"

Stupid is as stupid does...

"Look, Forrest. Before you go and unlock the World's Biggest Asshole achievement here, let's take a moment and review all the possible outcomes, shall we? The number's probably wrong; why would she keep the same number since the break-up? Hell, she probably changed it the day after just so you couldn't stalk her by cell tower! You'll probably get the wife of a jealous husband who'll reverse lookup your number and come over here to shoot you in the head!"

I'm waiting to hear the drawback to that one. At least something would finally shut you up. Besides, the bullet might go through-and-through into the paper-thin wall and shut up the couple next door as well.

"But let's just supposed for a moment that she's kept the same number for some stupid reason. If the number's right, once she sees the caller ID, what makes you think she's going to pick up and talk to you after you being afraid to use that number all these years? All these years of hoping she's make the first move back because she made the first move away?!"

I don't know. Maybe she'd be merciful.

"Okay, let's go with the dumbass fantasy a bit longer. Suppose that she does pick up. What is she going to say at nearly 2:00 in the morning? Probably something like, 'get the hell out of my life and stay out of it before I call the cops and have you arrested for stalking'! How's that for your damned 'closure'?"

Like the door on a jail cell.

"Which doesn't suck as bad as the only other possible outcome!"

Which is?

"Open your eyes, asshole! Suppose that, somewhere deep down, she does still have feelings for you. What if calling her awakens them? Are you really such a self-centered, vindictive bastard that you're willing to poison her Happily Ever After with a guilt trip about you just so that someone else can share your agony?!"

Damn you, I hate it when you're right.

"Always am."

I put the phone away and laid back on the bed. Lisa and I once made love on that bed. Maybe her scent lingered in it somewhere still?

"Not with all the farting you've done over the past five years."

Oh, shut the fuck up and go to sleep!

He wouldn't, and I didn't, until about two hours before I had to wake up for work.

I resisted the urge that night and the following night. But at 7:42 on the third evening, My Worst Enemy was intrigued enough as to how big of an ass that I could make of myself that he didn't talk me out of the attempt.