Tuesday, October 08, 2002

I'm feeling kind of bipolar right now, except the upswing is all mellow and dreamy, and the downside is all high-energy scrabbling panic.

The good stuff is that the guy Jeremy set me up with is a doll. He's sweet, romantic. (Oh, listen to me...). Never thought I'd really go for the Clark Kent type... Jeremy was right, I was horny; now I'm horny with a specific lust-object in mind. And I shall say no more about that.

The panic state is induced by the fact that Spooky Phil is a corpse. A spooky, beaten and/or mutilated corpse. One of his buddies came up to me, babbling, on my date and freaked me and my Specific Lust Object out. We left the bar, he trailed us out to the dance floor, yelling at me. "What did you see? How did you find him?"

I eventually confronted him, and the guy just cringed and started talking about police and Phil's body, and bite marks, how he became a corpse on the night of Arthur's "party" in an alley a block or so from Arthur's apartment, which brought all that ick surfacing up again. My demonic Nancy Drew needs to know: What happened that night? Phil died a distinctly unnatural death, and all I can think of is that noise in Art's bathroom and those little square things that looked like fingernails. Where is Art? Did the *thing* in the bathroom kill both of them? Was the thing in the bathroom actually Phil or Arthur...dying?? What was that thing in front of Art's computer? I still have it at home... should I tell the cops?

Two days later, I still have that interior... monologue? question-logue?... going on all the time, but at the time, I was carefully extracted from the club and nursed back to "normalcy" over a warm cappucino. With affection.

And he called me the next day to see if I was OK, and if I wanted to do anything tonight.

And I do.

No goth clubs, though. Maybe... thai food. Maybe... a flamethrower to Arthur's apartment. Yeah, trust me to do that and him suddenly be back inside. Deep, cleansing breaths. Deep, cleansing breaths....