DAMN-IT Tower

I really need to stop turning every fucking thing into a journal entry.

Seriously.

That was one of my actual thoughts today.

I had just finished Ain’t That a Bitch? and I was driving around on a Saturday afternoon trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do.

Archery?

Maybe.

Go see Joey?

Probably.

Go home?

Boring.

Fly an RC airplane?

That actually sounded pretty good.

Play video games?

Maybe later.

Work on JARBIT?

Definitely eventually.

I had bows in the back of the car, nowhere particularly important to be, and absolutely no fucking idea what I was doing.

Which, ironically, was something I had already established earlier as one of my greatest defenses against Batman.

Bruce Wayne might be the world's greatest detective.

Good luck figuring me out.

I can't even figure out what I'm doing Saturday afternoon.

And somewhere during all this wandering around, I started wondering whether something was wrong with my brain.

Because lately, everything becomes a story.

Everything connects to something else.

A stupid conversation becomes philosophy.

A Federal IT ticket becomes Batman.

A parking lot becomes a writer's room.

A relationship argument becomes a book.

A superhero discussion becomes theology.

And something completely fucking ridiculous suddenly has meaning underneath it.

Maybe that's what happens after writing two books.

My brain apparently received the notification:

Congratulations. You're an author now.

Please document every fucking thing.

The strange part is that the journals have changed.

For a while, so much of what I wrote came from pain.

Heartbreak.

Relationships.

Confusion.

Trying to understand love.

Trying to understand myself.

Trying to put words around things that hurt.

Lately?

The journal entries have become fucking stupid.

And hilarious.

Maybe that's not such a bad change.

Maybe life doesn't always need to hurt before it's worth writing down.

Sometimes a government laptop can't find its own barcode.

Sometimes Batman accidentally commits vehicular manslaughter while insisting nobody died.

Sometimes Samson becomes Samsung.

Sometimes that's enough.

◆ ◆ ◆

Eventually I drove over to Ann's house.

Her car wasn't there.

There was a gray car parked outside that looked suspiciously familiar, and immediately my brain started running scenarios.

Is that my parents' car?

Who's inside?

Should I walk in?

Is this a fucking trap?

I called Ann.

Her car was in the shop.

The gray car was a rental.

Mystery solved.

She didn't actually call me a dodo head.

But somehow she managed to communicate the general concept anyway.

I went inside to see Joey.

And nothing extraordinary happened.

Which might have been what made it extraordinary.

Joey and I talked about superheroes.

Spider-Man.

Batman.

Dr. Manhattan.

Rorschach.

Whatever superhero question entered his head next.

He asked.

I answered whatever I knew.

Then we went outside.

Joey had skates.

He doesn't know how to skate yet.

So I helped him.

Nothing complicated.

I showed him how to stand.

Helped him balance.

Let him get comfortable with the feeling.

And while I was doing it, I remembered something about myself that I don't think about very often anymore.

I used to skate.

Not just roll around the neighborhood.

When I was a teenager, I inline skated.

I jumped things.

I grinded rails.

I actually knew what the fuck I was doing.

Obviously teenage Romeo and current Romeo should probably not attempt the same rail unless current Romeo wants to become an orthopedic case study.

But I still know how to skate.

And now, decades later, this random thing I learned when I was young suddenly became something I could give my son.

I didn't plan that.

Joey didn't come over asking for some meaningful father-son lesson.

We just went outside.

I held him steady.

He learned a little.

That's it.

Ann came outside too.

She watched.

Then she went back inside and continued cooking.

And somewhere during this completely ordinary afternoon, another thought appeared.

Why the fuck does Ann look pretty all of a sudden?

Seriously.

Where did that come from?

I wasn't there trying to rekindle anything.

I wasn't analyzing our marriage.

I wasn't looking for some enormous emotional revelation.

I went there to see Joey.

But Ann was being nice.

She was cooking.

We talked.

I asked whether she'd read my book yet.

She hadn't.

The Amazon package was still there.

I showed the book to Joey.

That felt cool.

Two books.

Actual books.

Something that used to exist only inside my head was now sitting there in my hands while I showed it to my son.

And when it was time to leave, something else happened that I didn't expect.

I wanted to hug Ann.

I didn't.

But I wanted to.

I don't know what that means.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe familiarity.

Maybe history.

Maybe affection.

Maybe I was simply standing inside a place connected to a life I once knew very well.

For a long time with Ann, I had something I didn't fully appreciate until later.

Contentment.

Not perfect happiness.

There were problems.

Affection was one of them.

Sometimes I didn't feel like I had the kind of partner I wanted emotionally.

That was real.

But something else was also real.

I had a family.

I had a home.

I knew somebody was there.

I wasn't constantly searching for something.

I worked.

I had hobbies.

I built things.

I lived.

And that made me think about another strange contradiction.

When we lose someone, suddenly we understand their value.

We fight.

We grieve.

We bargain.

We would give almost anything to restore what disappeared.

But when we have something safely in our hands for years, sometimes we stop seeing it.

We notice what is missing instead.

Maybe losing something tests grief.

But having something tests gratitude.

And apparently human beings are capable of fucking up both tests.

◆ ◆ ◆

On the way home, my mind went right back to superheroes.

Because apparently there is no escape.

Earlier, I had developed what might now officially be called the Superhero Weakness Theory.

Superman has Lois.

Batman has Rachel, Selina, Talia and apparently half the female population of Gotham.

Spider-Man has Mary Jane and Gwen.

Hulk has Betty.

Tony Stark has Pepper.

Neo has Trinity.

And then I remembered Dr. Manhattan.

This motherfucker can manipulate matter.

He can teleport.

He can reconstruct himself.

He experiences time differently from ordinary human beings.

He can stand on Mars like he's waiting for a bus.

And even Dr. Manhattan has Laurie.

There it was again.

The joke says women.

The serious explanation says love, attachment and vulnerability.

Fine.

Whatever.

Women.

The theory remains undefeated.

But then I noticed something else.

Why does this shit always seem to happen to the heroes?

What about the villains?

The villain walks around blowing shit up and apparently doesn't have to worry about Lois falling off a building.

Then I remembered Mr. Freeze.

Nora.

There goes that theory.

The villain isn't immune.

The difference is whether he gives a fuck.

Once somebody genuinely matters to him, the vulnerability appears.

And that's when my brain suddenly jumped somewhere I hadn't expected.

JARBIT.

◆ ◆ ◆

JARBIT has been on both sides.

That's what makes him interesting.

He doesn't simply lose someone and remain heroic.

He believes Martha Bixby is gone.

The loss destroys something inside him.

He crosses the line.

He becomes evil.

He experiences the other side.

Then later he is given another chance.

And that changes the meaning of his goodness.

A hero who has never become the villain can believe he's good because that's simply who he is.

JARBIT doesn't get that luxury.

He knows what vengeance feels like.

He knows what happens when pain becomes justification.

He knows what happens when grief becomes permission.

So when JARBIT eventually chooses good again, it isn't innocence.

It's experience.

He has seen both roads.

And he chooses.

That connected unexpectedly to something I had just written in Ain’t That a Bitch?

Love doesn't remove free will.

Attachment doesn't excuse stupidity.

Another person can hurt you.

Another person can leave.

Another person can change your life.

But eventually you still own what you decide to do with what happened.

JARBIT can't ultimately say:

Bixby made me evil.

He has to understand:

I lost Bixby.

And I chose what I became afterward.

That distinction might be one of the most important things about him.

And suddenly I remembered why I want to finish that fucking book.

◆ ◆ ◆

Then the conversation became stupid again.

Batman doesn't kill.

Apparently.

That's what Batman says.

I started thinking about Batman: Arkham Knight.

Batman will beat somebody unconscious, throw him into concrete, drop from a rooftop onto his spine, then climb into the Batmobile and hit another motherfucker at approximately highway speed.

The Batmobile electrically launches the guy across the street.

The dude hits a wall.

Possibly breaks seventeen bones.

Batman keeps driving.

Game:

UNCONSCIOUS.

Sure.

Batman apparently possesses the greatest medical diagnostic system ever invented.

If the HUD says unconscious, nobody died.

Some poor Gotham paramedic probably arrives afterward.

This man's neck is broken.

Cop:

Batman said he's unconscious.

He's not breathing.

Batman said unconscious.

This motherfucker is dead.

Check the HUD.

And that's when Batdork finally discovered his superpower.

Batman almost kills people and declares them alive.

Batdork does the exact fucking opposite.

A government laptop boots.

Batdork:

Dead.

User logs into Windows.

Batdork:

Dead.

Outlook opens.

Batdork:

I've already ordered the replacement.

User:

But I'm using it right now.

Batdork:

Sometimes the body hasn't accepted what the soul already knows.

Batman has a No-Kill Rule.

Batdork has the No-Save Rule.

He doesn't repair laptops.

He pronounces them dead.

In fact, Batdork's real superpower might be this:

He sees dead laptops before the laptops realize they're dead.

Asset barcode?

Replacement ordered.

Next ticket.

◆ ◆ ◆

And of course Batman has Alfred.

Distinguished British gentleman.

Elegant.

Intelligent.

Loyal.

Proper.

Batdork?

Batdork has Alfredo.

Not Alfred.

Alfredo.

We had every opportunity to give him a sophisticated original name.

Nope.

Alfredo.

Because apparently Federal IT couldn't afford the full Alfred licensing package.

Alfredo:

Sir, I've examined the laptop. I believe the operating system is recoverable.

Batdork:

Dead.

Sir, it's currently installing updates.

Death spasms.

The user is actively working on it.

Denial is part of the grieving process.

Shall I order the replacement?

Now you're learning, Alfredo.

And if Batman has Wayne Tower, Batdork obviously needs his own headquarters.

So tonight another piece of the universe became official.

DAMN-IT Tower.

The Federal IT equivalent of Wayne Tower.

A magnificent monument to enterprise computing.

Printers offline.

Conference-room monitor displaying NO SIGNAL.

Elevator requiring PIV authentication.

Windows Update permanently stuck at 99 percent.

Somewhere on the fourth floor, somebody has submitted a ticket saying:

Laptop doesn't work.

No barcode included.

Welcome to DAMN-IT Tower.

◆ ◆ ◆

By the time I got home, I had eaten like a motherfucker at Ann's house.

Whatever food existed, I ate it.

Ann wasn't even finished cooking yet.

MyFitnessPal knows absolutely nothing about this.

So if anybody examines today's nutrition log:

That bitch is lying.

Phase Two of the cutting program has not exactly begun with military precision.

I came home.

Ate pecan pie.

Smoked a cigarette.

Looked at myself in the mirror and wondered whether I was getting heavier again.

Then I remembered that I have two published books.

Ten orders.

Eight ebook downloads.

Actual people are downloading something I wrote.

Somewhere, someone I don't know might currently be reading my fucking book.

That's still difficult to comprehend.

I wanted to play a video game.

Batman sounded good.

Maybe Arkham Knight.

Beat up fictional criminals.

Drive around Gotham.

No complicated story.

No enormous project.

Just something stupid and relaxing.

But I was yawning.

My body had already reached its own conclusion.

Go to sleep, dumbass.

And naturally my brain responded:

No.

Maybe YouTube.

Maybe a movie.

Maybe Batman.

Maybe JARBIT.

Maybe another book.

Maybe—

No.

Enough.

◆ ◆ ◆

Today began with me wondering whether something was wrong with my mind because I keep turning everything into stories.

By the end of the day, maybe I understood it a little better.

I don't necessarily sit down intending to create something profound.

I connect things.

One thought touches another.

Joey learning to skate connects me to the teenager I used to be.

Seeing Ann connects me to an old version of home.

Superheroes connect to vulnerability.

Vulnerability connects to love.

Love connects to loss.

Loss connects to JARBIT.

JARBIT connects to choice.

Choice somehow connects back to Batman.

Batman runs somebody over.

And somehow that creates Batdork's No-Save Rule and DAMN-IT Tower.

That is apparently how my fucking brain works.

Maybe creativity isn't always sitting quietly at a desk waiting for inspiration.

Sometimes creativity is driving around without knowing where you're going.

Sometimes it's talking to your son about Spider-Man.

Sometimes it's noticing somebody you've known for decades looks pretty today.

Sometimes it's remembering an old skill while holding your son's hands so he doesn't fall.

Sometimes it's laughing until something stupid accidentally reveals something true.

And sometimes it's simply looking at two books with your name printed on them and realizing:

Holy shit.

I actually made those.

Maybe tomorrow I'll work on JARBIT.

Maybe Federal IT will provide another episode without being asked.

Maybe Bittersweet will wait.

Maybe nothing creative will happen at all.

That's okay too.

Tonight, Batdork has reached critical battery levels.

Alfredo has reviewed the diagnostics.

Subject is yawning.

Subject insists he remains operational.

Subject is considering YouTube despite obvious system degradation.

Final assessment:

Pronounced dead.

And somewhere inside DAMN-IT Tower, one government laptop is still running.

Nobody has had the heart to tell it yet.

THE ROMNOTE PROJECT

Words. Stories. Legacy.

Category: Personal Journal / Creative Reflection / Federal IT Comedy
Recorded: Saturday, August 15, 2026
Author / Voice: Romeo Imbien Mesina
Archive Support: Jarvis / Alfredo