Hello walls. Nice to see ya. It’s been a long time. Dude you must be hanging round my subconscious or thinking about me or something cuz you’ve shown up in my dreams nearly every night this week. I think I met someone recently who reminded me of you or something. In the dreams you’ve gone straight, which is good. Which is what I always hoped for you. And in the dreams you’re always pissed at me, which is not so good. But familiar territory nonetheless. God you could be one jealous bastard. Not that it was entirely your fault . . . I even dreamed one night that the wife came back. As if that could ever happen! Last night was most bizarre though. I found myself in a cheap seedy hotel in some city somewhere, based on the flatness of the terrain I’m guessing the prairies, guessing Edmonton. That makes sense. I don’t know why I was staying at this hotel, but I’d been there for awhile, waiting for someone or something to happen. I answered a knock at the door and it was you, wild-eyed, out of your mind, but you. Happy to see you, relieved, for the first ten seconds. Until I heard the warning, realised there was no time, understood you couldn’t (or wouldn’t) protect me, he was coming and there was no way out, no time. You passed out on the bed and I called 911. The 911 operator wouldn’t listen to me, thought I was pranking because I couldn’t tell her where I was. Kept laughing at me and then hanging up. I tried to see the intersection signs out the window. Couldn’t understand why she didn’t know where I was. Couldn’t find any signs or landmarks or any markings to help me understand. God, I was pissed at that 911 operator. What a bitch! Her voice sounded familiar. I think I knew that wench once upon a time. I think she might have been in cahoots with him. You might have warned me calling the cops would do no good. I could hear his boots on the stairs climbing toward my door and I tried to wake you but you were gone, dried puke on your lips. I went to throw myself out the window but they were barred. The room was like a jail cell. I heard him reach the landing, heard the closet door slide open, heard the shot gun being loaded and cocked, safety off. And I slid to the floor beside the bed, covered my face with your big hand, still warm, and kissed your palm as I hid my eyes and waited . . . then I woke up.
Or should I say I jumped clean out of the bed with my heart beating so loud and fast I thought someone was pounding on the door downstairs. Been awhile since I’ve had one of the killing dreams. Guess I saw something last week that reminded me of him too.
Listening To: Fuck the Pain Away, Peaches
Hair: sick of trying to hold the red . . . might a more neutral brunette be in order? Or even an out and out black? Hmm. Can’t do black unless the spiky butch cut goes with it