When I close my eyes to sleep, I see him: the man with the blond hair. The almost white haire shading half his face, the exposed eye purple. Yes, it’s purple. I see that dream even as I type this….

I don’t know what it means.

I have to go to work. I have to pick some ghost flowers from my soul… or fall of the stage. Wish me luck. Here is a good Otep tune.

So I fell off stage a couple days ago. I felt the fog come on, but I couldn’t get down in time. Remind me not to wear long pants! Anyway, I’m ok, but Mr. Mann, the owner of the club, said if I do that one more time, he’s going to have to let me go. If I don’t dance, what will I do? I’ll just have to find a street corner, dance there, and start falling off curbs.

Dad says he will pay for a MRI. He says he doesn’t like girlfriends who stop working. I’m not sure if I want to do that, but I don’t think I have a choice. The funny thing is when it happened, and I hit the floor, I thought I was still dancing. I saw the crowd, the blank drooling stares of the audience. Of course, while drooling on the floor I saw this guy with striking long blond hair sitting in the front row. He wasn’t into me as he just sat there with a blank stare.  But, when my brain came back and Lexie, the girl who smells like Jo, was helping me up, the guy wasn’t there.

Weird. Anyway, I’m doing research on MRI’s today.

It’s been a long journey. It will continue to be. Although most of my scars are gone, but I still don’t feel quite back to where I was.

I started working at the club a couple weeks ago. I’m playing bartender. I wear tank tops and for some reason have a hard time hearing everyone. I have to lean into them. For some reason the men seem to think if I do this, talking to my chest makes it easier for me to hear. It doesn’t but I heard them well the first time. I’m just looking for tips. I want to pay back my dad. He helped me so much while I was in the hospital.

What happened?

According to my brain, nothing. My memories of the incident were removed from my little brain, plus about a week. Sure, some of it is remembered in bad 70′s Polaroid in my head, but for the most part, I have to take other people’s words for it. I had just walked out of the club in late April when I heard a pop. The next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital with Mr. Mann sitting next to me. He had my hand. I remember squeezing it and he smiled. I remember the next day, or a week later, the Boy was there. He was talking to an older man I didn’t recognize.

In the ensuing months, I learned to eat again. I like to say I had an eating disorder as I put a spoonful of mash potatoes into my ear. I still remembered how to walk, which was nice, but my balance is still off. That is why I am the bartender. I can use the bar to prop me up, and prop up my boobs. I’ll survive. I’ll be dancing again soon. I just have to remember to not let go of the pole.

His name was Jack. At least, that is what he told us his name was. The police sill haven’t caught him. I remember he had just started becoming a regular at the club. He wasn’t a good tipper and his conversation revolved around the weather. He is what we call a time killer. You invested a little time into him until you saw someone with cash. It made him feel observed, and we had something to do.

Why did he do it?

I would like to ask him. But, like I’ve said, the police have not found him yet. Someday, I’m sure I’ll get to ask him. But until then, I’ll work on staying vertical (I haven’t turn my attention to getting horizontal yet, but will soon). Anyway, at least I am blessed with friends who have stood by me and helped me. I love them all.

I spoke with my dad and he told me to stop sulking and play World of Warcraft. It will distract me and make me realize life is fleeting and the only way to gain experience to to get out there and kill something.

Yeh, the acid rain burns!