Mintyzilla!!!

2003-01-13T12:57:00.000-05:00

I'm very tired. I don't sleep much any more. Not lately.

There are two kinds of people in the world: people who divide the world into two camps, and all the rest of you losers.

No, really, what I want to say is there are people who want to be involved in Big Things, who want to get elected mayor, or find cures for cancer, or fight crime on the mean streets of Gotham. And then there are people like me. Who want to grab a few quick moments of joy in between naps and work and all the crap life throws at you.

Which is to say, I've gotten one of those legendary "leads the police won't touch" about some of the stuff that I've written about here, and I'm torn between dropping it all (like some other involved parties) or doing something out of character for me and playing the part of vigilante detective. Because some people out there know something. ("character" - "part" - does the drama club still show or what?)

All I have to do is find someone and ask some questions.

------

In other news, I've taken down the woodcut. Someone had been drawing things on it (house guests? mysterious non-thieving burglars? psycho ex-boyfriends?) and it was freaking me out. Besides which, bugs had started eating away at a food stain or something on it - leaving trails of eaten-away-space like cross-country ski tracks on snow. Officially, the only reminder of the whole thing is my nagging conscience and a folder Stephen dropped off at my apartment. I could just file it away, along with my grad school applications and a ream of old dress designs.

----

In other other news, North Korea may well blow up the entire world. Happy 2003, Planet Earth! Hope you like fireworks!!

2002-12-30T11:55:00.000-05:00

I just saw Stephen die again today.

This hysterical shit just about ruined my Christmas. This time, he was climbing on an awning over a bodega-style grocery in Brooklyn. I was sure it was him - I waved, he looked at me, then fell backwards down the below-the-sidewalk stairwell. CLANG! Crunch.

Christmas in New York. Gifts were given and received, and I'm walking through it like a zombie. I'm starting to feel like the city hates me. The cities, I should say.

Once again, I ran over, and once again, nobody there, and nobody knew what I was talking about, why I was freaking out on the sidewalk.

I emailed him that evening, and he responded the next day, still in Boston, still alive, and really wired about this packet of information he has for me - his "findings", all scanned and put on a CD.

I wonder if the crazies are contagious?

CLANG!Crunch. Almost like a cartoon. I can almost laugh about it, now. What is going on with me? This can't be normal, can it?

2002-12-16T17:36:00.000-05:00

I might as well just give in and retitle this blog "Miseryzilla."

I just saw Stephen during lunch break today. At least I think it was him. He got hit by a car.

I swear, I'm not making this up. Jeremy thinks I'm making it up. I'm not. I'm freaked out.

I ran over to see if I could help, but the guy (Stephen?) must've just gotten up and ran away or something, because there was just this mark by the curb where he landed.

I'd just seen him over the weekend, too. He's not looking so good - taking the whole Sheila thing way too much to heart, not bathing or sleeping any more from the looks of it. And he's obsessed with finding Arthur. Everything is finding Arthur. He says Arthur wasn't on good terms with his dad and stepmom, or at least wasn't too close to them, and they haven't heard from him in months. His mom was out of the picture, either dead or just ran away, he never said which. (This also makes me sad, on top of everything else, which is a sure sign that I'm getting soft in the head.)

Anyway, Stephen's been turning into a ninja (his exact words) for Arthur, calling his family for clues and (creepy part) stalking his spooky "group" buddies. Now, the Stephen I know has always been crazy in a fun sort of way, like, "Hey, who wants to bet me I can't finish this entire bottle of Capt. Morgan's?" The crazy he seems to be now, though, is not as fun. While we were talking, he said stuff like, "I know things the cops don't know about Phil," but when I told him to talk to the police, he started getting all... there's no other word for it... shifty. He didn't actually come out and say, "They're part of the problem, can't you see?" but I got the distinct feeling that's just what he was thinking. Which is, quite frankly, scary.

It reminds me of John Trotsky, who I sort of knew at school. He was a very shy political science major, tall, kind of heavy, with a sweet face and soft voice. Junior year, he went off to an exchange program in Italy, and something happened there. It may have been a misunderstanding with the police, it may have been too many magic mushrooms, or an accident with an electrical shock, or a combination of all three. But when he got back, he spent all his student loan money hiring a lawyer. He was suing the FBI. For everything they'd done to him, you know. He was on to them, no matter what tactics they were using to break his will, he was gonna make the bastards pay for what they did.

The last time I saw John, I could barely recognize him. He'd lost one of his front teeth and was evidently eating something like twice a week, and he stank of gasoline. And he'd run out of money for the lawyer. And his sentences all ran together and changed course midway, so he'd be talking about an episode of Star Trek and it'd run into his "stable of prostitutes" and then how he'd picked out this farmland and was drawing up plans for the house he was building -- once the settlement money came through. It was sad, it was scary, and I so don't want that to happen to anyone I know.

I'm supposed to see Stephen on Saturday. Maybe I'll try to talk him into seeing a counselor or someone. I really hope that was just some well-dressed homeless guy or some lawyer or something I saw today. And not Stephen.

2002-12-09T10:42:00.000-05:00

Oh, and this is just beautiful. Really makes my whole day seem so much better. Puts *my* problems RIGHT into perspective.

I'll just cheer up with some uplifting literature.

2002-12-09T10:31:00.000-05:00

I'm tired. It's cold outside, it's freezing in here, and I'm feeling stiff and sore all over.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

I'm tired of talking to cops, of thinking about cops, of coming home at night and turning on the news as if it's some horror movie that I'm a part of, waiting for the supporting player to finally turn up dead. I'm tired of secrets and mysteries. I'm even getting tired of Clark Kent - I shouldn't write that, because he probably reads this thing, but still. No more fights. No more fights.

Maybe it's this: I tried to go Christmas shopping over the weekend, and in the second store I went into, (Garment District in Cambridge) I found this perfect Hawaiian shirt with a butterfly print on it. Perfect. If he was still... here. And yes, crying over other boys isn't the way to keep your relationship going, but still, it's not like he and I were even going out.

Maybe that's why Clark's been drawing shit on the woodcut - adding branches to the tree while I'm not looking. And then gets an attack of the Not Me ghost. Childish. Depressing.

And that cop... the Mole Rat. He freaks me out. I saw him outside my job the other day as I was heading out to lunch. He seemed underdressed for the weather. Thin. Tired. Achy. Like me. Maybe I'm coming down with something.

2002-11-27T02:05:00.000-05:00

I don't even know if it's worth it to type this in - my entry from last Thursday isn't up, and it's Wednesday already. I may have to move my blog somewhere else if I want you, dear reader, to know what's going on...

The police have assigned a detective to Arthur's disappearance. No more society plumbers, we have the specialist on the job now. He was a little brusque, a little tightly wound, but efficient. Asked all sorts of questions about Phil, had already seen Arthur's blog... Somehow I don't feel as confident as I did after the first police interview. Maybe it's that he seemed nosy about my apartment, whether or not I'd had problems with bugs; or maybe it's that he reminded me of a
naked mole rat. Don't know why - he's not bald, not pink and squishy, not beady-eyed... (actually, he's not bad looking at all!)

Lunch with Nora was a nice break. I didn't get too soaked, and the meal was wonderful - a weird little Chinese hole-in-the-wall with incredibly flavorful soup (no MSG!) and the best crispy chicken dish I've ever had. And, of course, the company was wonderful - I think I'm going to adopt Nora as my older sister. We talked politics and things occult (she knew Phil and his group, thinks they were too ego-oriented to accomplish much), as well as music and broken hearts.

I feel really sorry for Stephen - I tried to call him to see what he was doing for Thanksgiving, but couldn't reach him. I hope he's with his family!

2002-11-21T15:42:00.000-05:00

comment:

________________________________________________

You sure you're not making this crap up?

Posted By: someone 11/19/2002 10:25:16 PM

________________________________________________

I'm offended.

A friend of mine, Arthur , has gone missing under odd circumstances including the unnatural death of a mutual acquaintance who was interested in things occult, the police are taking it seriously enough to have assigned a detective to the case (more on that later), my personal life may be getting sucked into the same weird mess that swallowed Arthur whole and spit out Phil's corpse, and "somebody" without balls enough to leave contact info calls my experiences crap and thinks they're fiction.

Fuck you too.

On a better note, work's been almost pleasant. The Evil Virgin has been spending more time in her office, the tasks set before me are less than Herculean for a change, and I'm having lunch with Nora on Friday.

In the freezing rain, if necessary.

2002-11-14T15:11:00.000-05:00

I'm beginning to think I dreamed the whole thing. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately. The Bible is right; there are punishments for too much sex. Hallucinations must be one of them.

In other news, there is very little other news. Other than the humongous famine in North Africa that nobody's talking about. Are there even 14 million people living in Boston? How big is a crowd of 14 million?

It's freezing in here, and I don't think it's only because it's November.

2002-11-14T11:27:00.000-05:00

I'm more than a little weirded out right now.

Clark was talking in his sleep the other night, and it wasn't the usual "mutter ..cheese.. mumble. Why would I want to eat that? ...mumble.. snore..."

He was speaking quite clearly, in another language that might have been Spanish or Portuguese. The words were distinct, loud, and rhythmic - it reminded me of a church service in some ways. The words also sounded familiar for some reason, but I was too sleepy to puzzle it out then.

I know now why I thought I sort of knew it; Clark was reciting the passage Arthur was so desperate to get translated months ago. And, some of the words are on the photocopy of the woodcut hanging on my wall. I think what I have is a photocopy of the thing that Arthur was obsessing about.

I have so many questions now, and I don't know if I really want the answers.

Why would Arthur tear the text off the picture? And then make another photocopy?

How did Clark know the entire text? He'd spent some time looking at my photocopy, but there are only fragments of the writing left there.

And, what does it mean??? I looked at the translation on Arthur's blog, and that makes as much sense as people usually do when they're talking in their sleep.

Grrr. I may have grown up wanting to be Nancy Drew, but I'm beginning to hate mysteries.

2002-11-08T16:26:00.000-05:00

Currently, reflecting on our Democratic governor's election in the face of a federal government controlled by Republicans, I'm balancing the pros and cons of moving my pacifist, socialist uterus to Canada.

I don't think we've gotten to that point quite yet.

In the meantime, there's bubonic plague in New York and officials are telling us there's really nothing to worry about.

Since, after all, it's not contagious. No, really.

2002-11-06T04:27:00.000-05:00

OK!! Enough with the weird dreams already!!

Once again, I'm wide awake. Characters from the TV show 24 were at war against the folks from Alias using the mask technology from the ghastly Mission Impossible movies. Everybody was revealed to be somebody else at least twice, the "weapons" were just strange (there was one massive unmasking precipitated by one of the characters throwing salt as if in a sumo match ritual), and while it was all deadly important, I had the feeling that what people did was more important than who finally won.

And I was shopping, again - but for real estate this time. Looking for a nice brownstone. On a Caribbean island.

Did I mention it was all completely silent?

I have no idea why I'm awake - this wasn't particularly scary, just very odd. While I'm up, I might as well meander through a description of the party from Saturday night.

I dressed not quite costumed - low black boots, black jeans, white floppy poet's shirt, red brocade vest, big gold jewelry... I could have almost been Clark's counterpart from Halloween. The party folks were dressed somewhat similarly - definitely not quite streetwear, but obviously not "costumed" either.

And I remembered correctly - the woman who invited me IS named Nora. And she was very appreciative of the bread and cheese I picked up on the spur of the moment instead of the bottle of vino I'd been contemplating. (Good thing, too - there was some amazing wine there!)

The party was pretty low-key until about midnight, when the games began. There was some sort of toasting game that I couldn't quite follow, and somebody had a deck of Tarot cards that were very Burning Man - lots of female and male frontal nudity, lots of tattoos and piercings and mud... so I did the "pick a card" thing and came up with the Six of Swords. In this deck, that's supposed to be "Interpenetrating Worlds" - realities behind other realities, mystical realms poking through the normal state of things and actually affecting what happens in real life. Too weird.

The high point was when the host dragged this big piece of canvas out of a closet and unrolled it in the livingroom. It had a labyrinth painted on it, and everybody who'd pulled a card was supposed to walk it. Somebody put on some sort of tribal music (forgot to ask what it was, I really liked it) and people started walking the painted path. I wasn't going to, but Nora wouldn't let me escape. And when I stepped onto the canvas, suddenly I really didn't want to, but it was like there was this pressure pushing me forward. Once I got started into the labyrinth itself, I was fine and it was fun, and I danced to the center and left my card and danced out again.

Then there was more dancing, more wine, and Nora instigated another round of "pick a card." Of course, I pulled out the same card again. She teased me about really wanting what I was asking for, but she didn't seem entirely happy with the repeat. And I don't remember now anything that I might have been asking for.

Well, I'm kind of tired now - maybe I'll be able to sleep.

2002-11-02T17:35:00.000-05:00

Better now - the house has coffee and bread and such, and I have enough three cent stamps to last until they raise the rates again...

I think I'm going to that party tonight. Not sure what I'm going to wear yet, though. I'm not wearing the corset again, or heels; maybe something simple for a change.

2002-11-02T13:25:00.000-05:00

So much for posting later. Work got ugly (I wasn't the only one who'd obviously had more fun than the Evil Virgin Bitch deemed appropriate, and she took it out on everybody), and I came home to the wreckage from the wee hours of Friday morning. I had to clean up all the bits of costuming that I'd shed (and am still shedding - there's going to be glitter in my apartment for months!). And then I collapsed, slept for over 12 hours...

Tales from Halloween: Clark was a highwayman - a dashing, highly romantasized robber. (He kept "stealing" kisses all night, I played into it and did damsel in distress for a while, he retaliated with mock ravishing... Definitely not PC and we got some funny looks, but it was lots of fun.)

People kept mistaking him for a pirate; if one more drunken fratboy asked him where his eye-patch (or parrot, or peg leg, or hook) was, I'm afraid he might have attempted to use the plastic blade he was carrying.

Sheila does indeed rock. She and Stephen went dressed as each other's bosses - very cute. Stephen's got nice legs, did surprisingly well in his skirt and (low) heels. I teased him about knowing where to shop for heels in his size and he looked kind of blank, then Sheila said she'd done all of his outfitting and he flushed. I'm guessing she introduced him to the "joys" of tucking his privates out of the way so as to not disrupt the line of his skirt. She may introduce him to other things as well; they had a running joke about giving each other memos and it got a little pointed here and there. Nothing nasty, but there were interchanges where they each were obviously conscious that the other person was standing in as their boss, and occasions where the genderfuck stirred stuff around in Stephen's head...

Did I mention that Sheila is absolutely gorgeous, and stunning in trousers and a tie? And comfortable wearing the genitalia that she made Stephen hide? I'm surrounded by perverts. (And I wouldn't have it any other way...)

I can't remember all the places we danced and drank. We got glitterbombed by a very cute fey fairy (the source of the persistent stuff), given chicken by a Colonel Sanders, and got shooters and jello shots as treats in various establishments... We also ran into a group that Sheila knows from somewhere - this woman (Nora??) appeared while we were resting and hanging out, gave Sheila a big hug, and invited us all to a party that's happening tonight.

I may go, but I'm not sure. Sheila and Stephen are out of town this weekend and Clark's got some relative coming in from Florida for a couple of days, so I'd be going alone. Not that that's a big problem - the whole group seemed cool. They were all done up in vaguely pagan costumes: a couple of demons (all shackled!) and a couple of wizards/mages of some sort, a witch, one Glinda the Good, one very impressive Green Man, and a couple of priestesses of one sort or another. Nora (I hope that's her name) was one of the priestesses, and she seemed to radiate calm and security and peaceful energy. She gave me a card with the info for the party and if I hadn't found it while cleaning up last night, I don't think I'd have remembered at all.

As much as I don't want to right now, I must go out and brave the weather - it's cold enough that the weather info is giving a wind-chill as well as an air temperature.

2002-11-01T12:28:00.000-05:00

It's The Day of The Dead.

Appropriate, given the hangover I have... And I was going to be so good last night, given that my presence at work today is MANDATORY.... (Bitch!)
This will be short and discrete, given that I am at work, but suffice it to say that I'm still wearing enough (very persistent) glitter that Clark put some feathers back into my hair this morning and they look good. Everybody but my boss agrees with me on this. (Evil Bitch.)

More later - duty calls.

No, it shrieks. And it sucks.

2002-10-31T02:18:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm wide awake now. I had another weird dream and it woke me up; somehow I don't think I'm going to get back to sleep anytime soon. The fried egg monsters made another appearance, but they weren't in cows or bunnies this time, were independent and full-sized just like in that old Star Trek. But, unlike Star Trek, they weren't dropping from the ceiling and attacking people but glomming together into clumps that got up and walked around like miniature people. And they sang to each other with voices that sounded kind of buzzy - almost as if you put cellophane over a comb and hummed through it. It wasn't a language or a tune that I recognize at all now, but it sounded so very familiar in the dream...

I was walking around and doing some shopping in a funky neighborhood (I wanted to buy chopsticks and a laundry basket - what does that mean??), and these things were there and singing and moving in patterns that seemed meaningful. None of the other people on the streets seemed to see them at all. Those things could touch people without being noticed, too - the people seemed to turn opaque somehow when they were touched, and the things got sort of translucent like layers of oil-soaked paper. I woke up when I could see internal organs developing in the monsters...

I almost wish they'd been wearing little red suits - if it had turned into Twin Peaks it would have been funny and I probably would have kept on sleeping. Well, maybe it wouldn't have been funny, but at least those writhing internal organs would have been covered. ick. I have no feeling that the dream is ridiculous - it made sense while I was there and it all seemed important. Except for the chopsticks.

I'm starting to ramble... I should take some benadryl and try to go back to sleep. I need to get some sleep tonight. Stephen called (he sounded really apologetic that he hadn't been in touch sooner, and he sounds head over heels in infatuation with this Sheila person). We're supposed to get together tomorrow night, all four of us, and go on some sort of club crawl with a small group of folks Sheila knows. If there are no translucent dwarves around, I think I can cope with whatever Clark Kent wears!

2002-10-29T12:11:00.000-05:00

Had a dream last night about those last two entries. It sounds like a joke, but it's true. It was all crossed with that Star Trek episode, with the fried-egg looking alien critters that shlorp onto the backs of people's heads that turn out to be brain cells. Spock blinds himself to get one of them off him with bright light.

In my dream, they had taken over cows, deer, rabbits, (etc) and the cows (etc) were living inside my blood vessels, like these giant tubes with red bushes and stuff. But the brain-cell-alien-infected cows were destroying all the bushes.

I think I should never listen to this song (The Democracy of Small Things) before bedtime again. No matter how much I like the "Little Sally Tutorial" at the end of the album.... Blow, you are mining my heart and soul for material, are you not? Clapping games and sex talk. And the low-fidelity sultry she-singer. If only I could sing, that'd be me.

For some reason, I'm finding it really hard work to get psyched up for Halloween this year. I mean, I'm psyched, but it's work. Maybe it's Clark Kent - I fear the sensitive perv's costume sense. We're surprising each other. This should be a dating shakedown - a chance to show each other our ids. Although he's seen plenty of mine the last couple nights....

2002-10-29T11:40:00.000-05:00

Yet another reason to go vegetarian.....

The idea of a bunch of wild animals suffering from Mad Cow disease is somehow really frightening.

2002-10-26T20:06:00.000-04:00

Is there no such thing as free will anymore?

ALL YOUR BRAINCELL ARE BELONG TO US!!

2002-10-26T14:45:00.000-04:00

I tacked the w?kÍoodcut up on the wall near my front door. It's creepy, I know, but it feels like the only link I have to Arthur right now. Besides, it's kind of fun looking at the bushes behind the guy and finding faces in the ?kÍleaves.

I just wish I could shake the fee?kÍing that the bushes weren't there before.

It's a photocopy. It can't change, right?

2002-10-22T15:56:00.000-04:00

So, weblogs are now in Doonesbury. And I'm thinking about *boys*.

I feel so... mainstream.

2002-10-19T14:46:00.000-04:00

Clark Kent called. He was apologetic about asking me to go see Secretary (without admitting he'd done anything wrong, of course), was very sweet about wanting to buy me dinner, and seemed very sensitive to issues of trust and what you could call "boundaries."

I'm going to accept the dinner. I still don't know if he's a perv - maybe he's from California and has been through tons of therapy, or maybe he's just very aware and emotionally intelligent. If so, why is he still single??

2002-10-18T12:01:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to decide what to do with the little souvenir I brought back from Arthur's place. I'm not sure why I brought it home with me - it's just a photocopy of an old woodcut of some sort. Maybe it proves to me that I was really there? Not that I'd forget, just that part of me doesn't really believe it anymore....and the Nancy Drew in me wants to go back, prove that it wasn't all that bad. Maybe I should put the woodcut back? Maybe it's a clue for something?

It's definitely strange... kind of creepy looking. Seriously. There's this guy with a big axe of some sort in one hand facing a dead tree. There's a big black bird up near the top of this leafless tree, watching the guy. Maybe the bird is inspecting what's coming out of the guy's mouth? I can't decide if it's a forked tongue or a human hand. Anyway, the whole scene is framed with these round shapes. They're like clouds or bubbles, except that they're on the ground as well... The edges of the original page have been torn off, but there are some letters and words left that show up on the photocopy - just enough to see that the writing isn't in English.

I'd forgotten all about the woodcut until the cops came back on Wednesday. Yes, they kept their appointment and were precisely on time... (It must be nice to be able to park anywhere and not worry about getting a ticket!) They had questions that seemed mostly like a rehash of their last visit, not particularly useful. So I started talking about Arthur getting involved with Phil's group, then asked about Phil's death. One of them seemed really surprised, and the other one went all official. "That incident is still under investigation and we can't talk about it." Then they both went back to being Society Plumbers, very nice and not at all scary-TV-cops, so I decided to push just a little. I went off about how I introduced the two of them, I was their friend and I felt responsible somehow and dammit I had a right to know what was going on! It didn't do any good. I guess Plumbers don't talk about what they see in other houses...

The worst thing is that part of it was true. I spent most of Thursday moping because I did feel responsible... for everything.

But it's Friday now, and to steal a quote:
"I'M ALL FINE AND WELL NOW! "

So I introduced Phil and Arthur. And, yes, I don't know where Arthur is or what he's doing these days. But do I really believe that Phil and his group of weirdos is responsible for Arthur's absence? Maybe just a little, but only because they're weirdos. Meaning only that I don't know what they do.

Do I really believe that Arthur had anything to do with Phil's death? No, of course not. Arthur is a slightly shy bookish librarian, a complete sweetheart with one marginally odd hobby ... who I'm making sound like the serial killer that nobody ever suspected of anything.

No. Arthur had nothing at all to do with Phil's death.
Nothing. At. All.

2002-10-13T17:51:00.000-04:00

It's Sunday. And I'm confused...

Clark Kent and I went out to his favorite restaurant for Thai food, and we had a wonderful evening. The food was wonderful; good enough to make me forget I was getting tired of pad thai. Clark was funny, warm, and attentive and asked if I wanted to go see Secretary. Have I let a pervert into my life?

Mind you, it's not like he asked me to go to "In the Realm of the Senses." And I have nothing against the occasional spanking between friends. (Jeremy - I'm still not going to tell you if I'd be giving or getting!) And, this could certainly explain why he was so very good at calming me down and taking care of me after Phil's freakoid buddy accosted us at the club. But Secretary isn't exactly a "we just started dating" sort of movie.

Sigh. I didn't really need the reminder that "perverts" who are into BDSM are generally nice people. But I guess I did need the reminder that I don't know anything at all about the man behind the Clark Kent mask. And I'm still not sure I want to see that movie with him...

In other news, the police have made an appointment to talk to me some more about Arthur's vanishing act. An appointment! That's something else you don't see on TV...

2002-10-08T10:31:00.000-04:00

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....

2002-10-04T12:51:00.000-04:00

Buckle down time.

That's it. I'm going to get something done if it kills me.éº

I hereby declare, gazing boldly into the future, thatéº I will be a novelist!

Yes, I have joined National Novel Writing Month. Official éºslogan: it doesn't have to be good, it just has to get done.

Expect frequent interruptions to this journal during the month of éºNovember, because I'll be working on something else.

So, now for ideas.....

---------------------------

éºIn other news, I'm actually giddy over the prospect of a date tonight. It's nuts. Don't they sell cynicism in aerosol cans anéºymore? Oh ironic, wry, bitter 90s, come back! All is forgiven! éº

------------------------

The cops came by last night. Two of them. For someone like me, who only knows cops from TV and traffic tickets, it was very odd. They were like... plumbers. Or electricians. Guys doing their job, trying to fix something that was broken. A strange revelation for a city girl like me. Aren't we supposed to be familiar with the mechanisms of law enforcement just by, hello, virtue of the lifestyle? I suddéºenly feel so... suburban. Sheltered.

They took their notes and said they might come back if anything developed. I was surprised by that, too, I suppose. The Society Plumbers were actually, like, taking me seriously. They were éºtrying to help.

An end to irony, indeed.