Friday after classes were done I ate some strange salad at lunch and felt ill, so I decided to take a nap and “sleep it off.” I don’t think it workt. To be honest I don’t think I was able to sleep it off all weekend. That evening around 5pm, Sean & I ate dinner in the food court with Blake & them and were about to head to Ceejay’s when I noticed Avery was online. I was pist that I only had a second to say hi to her (tapping keys of green iMac) so I made it short & sweet.
In Echo Hollow we practiced our set for Ericka and then Sean & I drove her to buy beer at Kroger. Her friends Heather (who happens to know Jordan, by the way) & Isabel arrived and we went over to Jeremiah’s and got buzzed on his patio. Isabel, or Izzy, small & pretty, didn’t seem interested in me or Sean. Neither did Heather, really. Ceejay & Ericka went back across the street for the night and Sean got the spins and had to lay down in his car for a bit, so then it was just me & Jeremiah and the two girls. We moved to the dim, dirty bonus room for a while; walkt to the end of the street and back; sat at the foot of Jerry’s driveway gazing at what stars we could see. I began calling Isabel different names with a Latin accent like Isidore or Isamar and tried to flirt with her that way. It wasn’t a successful strategy. It was a boring, hopeless night. After the gals left, I bid Jeremiah good night and stumbled over (past Sean, out cold in his Jeep) to crash in the McClellans’ basement den.
Saturday morning was peaceful enough until Ceejay’s family returned early from Myrtle Beach. I was upstairs eating waffles in their kitchen and had just burnt my right middle knuckle on the toaster oven. Ceejay & Ericka had decided dumbly to fuck in the downstairs shower, and were engaged in such act while I sat one floor above talking to his mom and eating his family’s food. I felt horrible. His sister Kaycee walkt up to me holding fuzzy little Brutus, whom she then dumpt into my lap. I nodded & carried the kitty down the narrow flight of stairs, making as much noise as I could, while trying to minimize the number of tiny claws getting caught in my clothes at any given point. The two of them emerged from the bathroom looking just as you might expect. I was angry and sullen at having been caught in the awkwardness of it all. Then Mr McClellan cald Ceejay upstairs and yeld at him for leaving a light on all night, as me & Ericka stayed quietly below with the kitten. The argument escalated until Ceej was askt to leave peacefully, at least if he still wanted that pickup truck they’d promist him. So we woke up Sean & all piled in his car, and he drove us to Rivergate Mall. There I felt even worse. The combination of feeling at first like the 3rd wheel and then like a 4th-wheel spectator to the subsequent runaway drama completely tore me up. I was mad at myself because I felt that I didn’t deserve to be mad. Or that I couldn’t afford to be, one.
Sipt iced coffee bought with cash earned from taking Orange Julius consumer research surveys, ten bucks each. Play time with blondie Olive in the Riddles’ front yard afterward—she takes Sean’s keys, staggers over to his Cherokee and tries to put the key in the door, saying “Sha car? Sha car?” and looking back over her shoulder—at which point things were becoming more tolerable. Maybe it was just a hangover. Our show Saturday night was awful too, tho. No one came & we played with shitty bands. I wonder if Tiger really wants to help us get better shows like he said he would. He’s this borderline anorexic, truant, underage scene kid from Iowa (or maybe Indiana… one of those “I” states, anyway) on the run from his family or the law or both, who simply found his way to the Muse one day after debarking a Greyhound bus and wandering down Lafayette Street, made himself at home, ended up happily taking over much of the acid-dealing duties from Ceej after Ceejay’s bad trip, and has now convinced the owners to let him book a few shows as well. He claims to know touring bands from all over the continent who can bring a decent crowd. So far it’s been underwhelming and I think he might be a bullshit artist, but it’s not like any of us could do any better. We still don’t have a singer.
Ceej & I took ye olde LSD on campus again that night. We watched the trees dance above the glinting vehicular bodies in the quad’s parking lot. In the dim bathroom while pissing I could hear Greg the RA moving around in his room, chair scraping the tile floor, papers shuffling. I thought I saw a black liquid seeping out from under the toilet, but it was only my shoes.
It was during this trip that I received the e-mail from Will. I should have waited until I was sober to read it, because it kinda freakt me out. (I’ve yet to have a full-blown “bad time” on acid but I can see how things can turn dark real quick.) He’s saying some really wacky stuff and I can’t tell how serious he is. I mean, we’re all a little fuckt up over Suze’s death. But he’s not even talking about his mom; it’s totally unrelated, this “warped memory” stuff he’s on about. And since I read it while dosed, it made more sense to me than it probably should have. I won’t copy/paste his message here—I think I gotta chew on it some more before I can explain it.
Sunday we swam at Jeremiah’s house, sans Sean. Eventually I got angry and abruptly left. My palms & heels began to tickle. Jeremiah knew something was up and caught up to me as I was backing out of the driveway. I told him I was fine & puld away, but when I got home I messaged him on AIM & explaind that I felt I was too often the butt of everyone’s jokes, and by everyone I meant him—tho I wasn’t that specific with him. He intuited it anyway and apologized. It was all very upsetting but bringing it out into the open helpt, I guess. If Sean had been there I doubt it would have botherd me. Fuggit, I sed. I downd some NyQuil and fell asleep.