Surely seven steps have been taken. Days collapsing in exhaustion, settling yourself back into the city, alcohol aware, wondering where I am. I know that not once has an hour walked by without handing me a card with your holy name written on it. My eyes falling down, unable to speak it out loud without reverberations stirring within my heart. Scripted now, I don’t know what to say. It’s been a week. Every day an anniversary missed. I’m waiting. I gave you something and it’s time you gave it back. It’s been decided I’m a widow now, the grave dug in foreign soil when you decided another bed would be the answer to a question I don’t know yet.
Tonight is burlesque followed by midnight Rocky Horror at Andrea‘s house. An easy segue, we’ll all be dressed appropriately, though we’ll likely be showing up without toast or toilet paper. Tomorrow I don’t know. During the day on both Saturday and Sunday are Kokoro Dance’s 10th Annual Wreck Beach Butoh performances, something I haven’t been to in years now. Afterward, I’m sure there’s something happening Saturday night. With us, how could there not be? I put down my lack of knowledge to the fact that lately my brain, at best, has been a distracted sieve. Sunday is darling Chelsea‘s birthday dinner, and Monday is the ever-present Korean Movie Night. Tuesday is Beth‘s performance and Wednesday… Wednesday my skull swishes, an empty shell of me. Dominique, were you Wednesday? It was dedicated to someone and it wasn’t for Karaoke, that comes later. Was there a concert? Something to do with Mike? I’m tired, my memories bleeding. Thursday pulls a blank, but Friday is Lung‘s not-to-be-missed photography show.