Saturday, November 14, 2015

I hadn't had one of those dreams since I found the girl's car.

That was . . . I have no idea. This winter is messing with my sense of time.

It doesn't help that Mom hasn't come home yet.

The house is

Let's be honest. I keep the house at sixty-three degrees.

It's cold and dark earlier and earlier and I come home and do yoga. I cook dinner for myself and for lunch the next day and that's getting old too, but I want to save money, so I grocery shop and

And whatever.

The COLOR ZZZZZ granite top wipes down easily enough. There's a

I'm talking to myself.

I was talking to myself a lot, back then.

So, okay, listen. I was tired and depressed and I looked an easy twenty-two, twenty-three and it was a Friday and this is how these things go, when you're not a drinker.

I went to a gay club. I shaved my head and my face and my neck and I wore my bomber jacket and some jeans and a white t-shirt and boots that would make Mercedes proud. Before I left, I went into Mom's bedroom and found her eyeliner --liquid eyeliner, and I slid two thin lines: one under each eye.

I looked like an idiot, but. "Good," I said.

And I listened to the R&B station with the obnoxious DJ all the way there, and some of the music wasn't too bad. That's what I told myself.

I got in by flirting with the smaller bouncer, who also had a shaved head. We laughed and I touched his shoulder and lingered there. Just like he used to do.

The club had two distinct areas and I don't know how many flights of stairs. Down stairs, down a hallway down more stairs and some of these moments were black lit. Then, pissing, and later: throwing up. Puking. Lots of puking.

Before that, though, I looked around. The music was loud and bass heavy and right in the center of the crowd was someone wobbling about like Pig Pen, from the comic? In a sea of conservative color, this person wore white, tight pants, and a white, hooded sweater. White gloves, a white surgical mask. Twirling slowly, pistoning up and down. In sharpie marker on the back of the sweater was the word, "Anachronism"

"Well, that's obvious," I commented.

A guy next to me snorted and swigged from a bottle of bud light. "I wonder what he's like," he said.

"I don't," I said, and walked away, looking for the bar. The short (haha) bald guy at the door gave me a wristband and waved me with a wink. So when I walked up to the sparse bar and put my hands down the waitress