[Originally written on this date in 2005]
Since it was one of those days where the weather was particularly pleasant, I decided to go outside and explore this newly created park that is not far from the house. Deviated from the main space to follow a trail that wound its way through the woods. Apparently there are plenty of these all around this area, so long as one can find an entrance, and I really enjoyed being surrounded by all of those tall trees. Might I add here that finding worn-out porn magazines along said trail made for good amusement. The walk was quite refreshing, despite the fact that my large earlobes were very cold, as they are a hair shy of 1 1/2″ and no longer fit under any of my hats.
Getting back on track here, I found a bench to take a small rest before deciding to head into another part of the woods that did not have a trail. There was no one around to tell me I could not go in there, and one never knows what can be found among the shadows. Upon trudging through the leaves and sticks and thorny bushes, I discovered this odd cave-like structure that was fabricated out of bent-over twigs and whatnot. The trees in front of it had been perfectly draped with ivy, and the general feeling of weirdness was definitely prominent. To be honest I have no idea who…or what…made that thing, but it certainly piqued my curiosity. There was evidence of hunters having been there, by way of a tree perch and some shallow holes in the ground, but there are plenty of signs posed that tell you there is not supposed to be hunting in those woods. The more I surveyed this strangeness, the less I could shake the feeling that whatever made these things was not human at all, and I wound up giving myself a case of the creeps so quickly that I walked back to the park.
It was late afternoon but still nice so I continued walking and was getting lost in thoughts of drinking. When I was not focused on preparing for a show, I felt like I was just floating around waiting for the next one to come. The intense high of being in front of an audience, seeing the looks on their faces and hearing their reactions as you manipulate your body in strange ways, was always short-lived. It is followed by the extreme low of feeling like you do not belong in the situation you talked yourself into, yet doing your best because it is all you have at the moment and are making progress in the one thing that keeps you happy. Without that happiness, all you can do is wallow in your own sorrow, and there is no better way to do that than by finding it in the bottom of a bottle. Maybe it is just easy to use that an excuse, but you keep finding yourself emerging from the dead end street where you live, walking up a hill next to a busy highway and going to the liquor store for copious amounts of cheap whiskey.
This gets drunk in the bathroom at the supermarket before deciding to walk even more while I make a phone call to the one person I felt might have a shot at understanding what I was going through. As coincidence would have it, James was at the diner and soon I was sitting at a table across from him trying to conceal my drunken state and likely failing. It is comforting to know that I have a friend to rely on, but the fact is I know James from my days working at the Cove which I feel gives us this weird bond. After many years of having our own lives, we met again at this diner when I was there with my partner who wanted to hang out with some of his friends. Next thing I knew we were trading Cove stories and it felt like I had found a long lost brother or something.
James put me in a better mood immediately by doing something to make me laugh, which I really appreciated more than he realized. Maybe it was the whiskey, but I ended up having a great time talking to him about various things. Though I wanted to approach the topic of what was happening with Jon, my doubt of whether I could trust him yet with that kind of information made me hold my tongue. Instead, I thanked him for the company, walked all the way back to the liquor store to get some more fuel [and maybe forgetting to pay for it], and then walked to the bowling alley.
As soon as I walked in the guy behind the desk of the shoe rental complimented my leather jacket. Cold weather or not, I decided to take it out of the closet and wear it whenever possible because it is a valuable possession that was gifted to me by my best friend. Recently I added the two inch spikes I bought from a shop in Cali to the collar, thus slowly transforming it into a deadly weapon. He also inquired about the size of my lobes, curious of where I got my jewelry. Resisting a laugh, I explained to him that it was just some PVC pipe I had picked up at Home Depot.
Commenced several rounds of solo drunken bowling and was surprised at how well I did considering the frequent trips to the bathroom to consume the booze I had stolen. My arm got tired so I returned the shoes and was slowly making my way through the parking lot trying to figure out what I should do at two in the a.m. when someone I have often seen at the diner is cruising by and offers me a lift. There I sit drinking coffee, playing cards and engaged in conversation with a bunch of people I know but don’t really consider friends, trying to have a good time though my heart aches.
Returned to the house somewhere after five in the morning, thankfully avoided disturbing anyone and altering them to my early a.m. arrival, and then promptly passed out.