Six Days

7/20

Dear Diary,

What a great day.   Every instinct tells me I’m going in the right direction at work.   It’s vacation time and I don’t even want to go anywhere this year.   I never thought being a shrink (much less a corporate shrink) could be so rewarding.   I finally got the nerve to say hello to Mr Galdblatt.   He remembered me!  Conversation with Mr. Galdblatt

Mr. Galdblatt:  Matt, that last seminar you ran on self-esteem was a huge hit.  Me:  Thank you Mr. Galdblatt.  It seems to be helping with the anxiety of the economy.

Mr. Galdblatt:  Yes, I noticed the lunchroom was a buzz of interesting conversation.   Let’s talk about that other idea you had…Merlin-Briggs?

Me: Meyers-Briggs sir.  Yes, that will help with relationships.  I think it’s a great team building exercise. 

Mr. Galdblatt:  Whatever you call it, I wan to see more of what I saw this week.  Keep it up Matt.   Enjoy your vacation.

Oh Diary… He even remembered my vacation! I’m going out to celebrate tonight.   It would be silly to celebrate with grilled cheese at home.  I don’t have a date, but I’m taking my self out to something exotic and fun.

7/20 – Cont

Diary, It’s technically, 7/21 but I haven’t been to sleep.  I feel I must document this night.  It started out as a wonderful day.  I’m sure there is a lesson in this somewhere (don’t drink?).

I went directly to the internets and found a Mediterranean restaurant that was over on St. Charles street.  It’s a warm night, so no jacket and I’ve changed into the jeans.  Of course, I only wear them for special occasions.  This night is special and I’m feeling like a rock start.  I felt great going over there but as soon as I walk in, I feel intimidated.  I know, I’m supposed to be over that.  I’m not even taking the anxiety medicine anymore.   I was a little taken aback by the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy.

All the triggers were there.  First, the place was much more formal than I thought.  There was brass and wood and plush carpets.  I was in jeans and I almost turned right around.  I saw an older couple walk in and he had jeans on so I felt a little better.  They looked rich though.  Then I got freaked out about price.  Could I afford this?  Opentable had $$$.  What did that mean anyway? Why didn’t I look at the guide?  Did I come to a place I can’t afford?  I thought about rushing out and reading the menu on the outside, but I was afraid that I would look stupid.  Afraid…again.  I’ve got a credit card with $1200 of credit and only $12.50 used.  Well, damn the torpedo’s and full steam ahead, I thought.    This is a special night. 

I waited for the people ahead of me (Mr. and Mrs. Jeans) to confirm their reservation.  I didn’t see hostess when I walked in, but I heard the accent.   God!  How could I expect the woman to look like that? Trigger? Hello????  She was an absolute goddess.  Her hair was dark black and pulled up.  It totally showed off her long slender neck.   She was wearing a simple black dress but it looked like it was made for her.  And…diary, without sounding pornographic, she had the most beautiful set of breasts I’ve ever seen anything like that (close up).  They were held up by that dress and they hovered magically.  In my mind, I could only see them spilling out onto my waiting face.  I think I might have hallucinated this vision.  She stood over six feet in her heels and she would have had to just lean over and my face would have been perfectly placed.  But I digress.  As Mr. and Mrs. Jeans are seated I step forward and I’m treated to a smell that I want wake up to everyday for the rest of my life.  Trigger?  My anxiety (and panic) is growing. 

After what seems to be an interminable silence, I force myself to talk to this goddess.  ‘Table for 1” is all I can get out.  I can’t remember my name! I feel like I’ve never had any therapy and none of the ‘tricks’ are helping.  My thread of calm is slowly unraveling.  I can’t look her in the face.  All I can do is look down.  She’s totally intimidating.  The real kicker is, she has an accent.  And dear diary, you know, I’m just not good with accents.  It’s another trigger.  Of course, this is not a U.S. accent, I’m talking about a some far off, I can’t make out where she’s from, but I’m pretty sure she’s speaking some kind of freaking alien gibberish accent.  What sounds like Ure’ zastnm is repeated 4 times until she looked at me (I’m probably covered in sweat) and says “Ah Mzter Klatsky”.  I actually recognize my name and (without fainting), a young man leads me to my table.

Ok, so, now I’m comfortable.  I know what to do and what’s expected of me.  I’m still sweating though and as soon as the water person comes and pours water into my glass, I gulp it all down.  The water person hears me put down the glass and turns smartly around and refills it.   Nice!

My waiter asks if I would like a drink to start.  I’m still feeling a little overwhelmed, but I want to celebrate.  My drinking experience is really only beer in college and some wine, which, I strategically let my date pick.  But diary, I’m celebrating and beer or wine seems wrong.  I have no idea what a good drink is and I want to look smart and sophisticated.  Then, I remember one of those old movies I used to watch with my Mom and say “Whiskey on the rocks”.   It sounded good coming out but I was immediately asked “What kind of whiskey sir”?   The only one I could remember was Johnny Walker.  Did you know there is more than one kind?  Black, Blue, Gold and Red?  Well, Blue sounded more sophisticated, so I ordered Blue.  The waiter smiled, (more on why later) and returned quickly while I looked over the menu.

The menu was astounding.  So many things I’d never even heard of.  The price didn’t look too bad until I realized…I was looking at the appetizers.   I absent-mindedly took a sip of my drink.   That stuff burns!!!!  Why do we drink it?  I mean really?  Crap.  I didn’t want to waste it though.  Honestly Diary, I didn’t like the taste of beer or wine either, but at least they didn’t BURN!   I decided to drink a sip and then follow with water.

Well, I don’t remember what I ordered for an appetizer.   I mean, I know it was called Tapas.  It was a lot of little things.  By the time it came my torture juice was a quarter done.  My face was flushed but I was enjoying the various pieces of Tapas.  I kept seeing the hostess in the view I had of the front door.   A friend of mine (acquaintance?) once said “never date out of your species”.  That girl, dear diary is out of my species.

I’m only half done with my drink as my Spaghetti comes.   It seems to me that spaghetti is probably more Italian than Mediterranean but I want to be able to know what I’m eating.  Coos-Coos?  What is that?  The spaghetti dish was far from Italian though.  No meatballs and it had more of a cream sauce with bacon.  I’m pretty sure I ate artichoke hearts for the first time also.

It’s funny Diary.  I finished that burning mass of ice cubes and drained that glass.  Holy goodness, I never expected that I would be able to.   You know what?  I ordered another!  I still had more spaghetti so why not?  

What a great night for me…right there.  If someone could have whisked me off to my apartment at that exact moment, it would have been perfect.

Well, the waiter (did I mention his name was Cal?) comes by and asks if I’d like desert.   I ate every drop of food up until now.   That includes all the bread they brought me.  I think I was feeling the whiskey, because normally, I order desert.  Not because I want it but because I don’t to appear that I don’t appreciate the ‘whole’ dining experience.    But now…  I’ve ordered exotic and I’m enjoying my whiskey.  I’ve mastered the meal and I’m the king.  So, I turn down desert.  It’s a good thing because when I get the bill, I see what the Johnny Walker Black costs.  Why would anyone order something that SO expensive and BURNS???   Anyway, I break out my calculator and leave a generous 16% tip.   I hope Cal appreciated it because I’m not a big spender.

I am about to leave and I realize I need to use the power room.   Public restooms are not my favorite and in fact, I would never go to one unless it was an emergency.   I ask Cal where it is and points me in the direction.  I head towards the stairs he’s pointed me too.   I almost fell down the stairs.  As I get to the bottom I see a door at the end of the hallway.   The light in the hallway is not very good and I can hear the kitchen help cursing in Spanish, I think.

This is where it gets weird.  I find the bathroom door and go in.  It was nice enough inside and didn’t smell too bad.  I make my way past the one occupied, seated stall to the old style sanding pee toilets.  Of course, the guy in the seated stall has obviously eaten something bad.   Really bad.  It smells like old hamburger.  All that water and whiskey is making me desperate and although, I’d rather not ‘go’ with someone else in the room, I unzip and let the flow go. (sorry, don’t mean to be gross)

Not having much experience being drunk, I must say, I was thoroughly enjoying the number one experience.  I could feel it my teeth.  I never thought that was possible.  Is it possible Dear Diary that I am writing this now?  That man was suddenly behind me.  I thought, “he’s going to rob me”.   Just when I started to say something, I felt his hand go over my mouth.  It was horrible and cold but covered my mouth completely and I couldn’t scream.  He whispered “shhhh”.  My hands are on my thing but the pee has stopped.  Now I’m thinking “he’s going to rape me”.  That thought lasted less than a second and I felt the bite.   Two pinpricks in my neck.  Then nothing.

I woke up to one of the waiters shaking me and telling me I can’t sleep here.   He was very nice, but there was clear pity in heling.  He helped me put water on my face.  My neck hurt and I didn’t remember the bite until I got home and wrote this last paragraph.  He ushered me out and as I passed by the goddess she turned away.   I was embarrassed because I had obviously had too much whisky.

I came home and wrote this but I am so tired and I need to sleep.  If this is the effect of alcohol, then I will never do it again. 

7/21

Dear Diary,

I woke up to my alarm at 6:00 AM but I felt so sick it was all I could do to write this. 

Cont…

Diary, I’m sick.  I mean really sick.  I’m so cold and so tired.  It’s 3:00 PM.  Just documenting this all in case I die (I know…dramatic).

Cont (2)…

Oh, Diary.  Can you believe I’m up at 8:30 PM!  What 15 hours of sleep won’t solve.   I have permanent cold feet but I’m feeling rested and hungry.  It’s too late to shop.  I think I’ll go out again.  I reread what I wrote last night and decided I need a retake of that whole dinner experience, but not at the same place.

Cont(3)…

Holy cow.  Diary, I went to that Steak house I’ve passed by for months.  It was crowded but I didn’t have nerves tonight.   It surprised even me when I told the hostess how beautiful she was.  I couldn’t help myself.   She just looked regal and so inviting.  Oh and she smelled like nothing I’ve ever smelled.  It wasn’t perfume.  It was more like warm bread and suddenly I was starving.   She seemed to really like my compliment because I got a table almost right away.

The restaurant was pretty crowded somehow that smell came from everywhere.  I know I said ‘bread’ diary but I don’t think that’s quite right.  I can’t think of any other word but the smell made me feel as if life was abundant and pulsing all around me.  I don’t think there was anyone in that whole place that was as hungry as I was. 

My waiter took my drink order and I decided to order Whiskey again.   Water didn’t appeal to me.   I took a sip as the waiter watched for my approval.  This time, there was no burn.  Now there was just the flavor of the whiskey but slightly muted.   I nodded approval at the waiter and he slipped the menu in front of me.  With one gulp I finished half the drink.   It warms my throat.

I don’t know what that long sleep did, but beside my feet being cold I’m feeling starved.   A dish passes by me and it looks so good!   My waiter (Josh) places it on a table with four people at it.  The other dishes are served and once the service is done, Josh turns to me to get my order.  I ask Josh what that meal is.   “That’s a rib-eye, rare with a red wine vinegar reduction”.  I ask for that.   Josh wants to know if I want an appetizer.  In my mind, I want to scream “Just get me my fuckin’ steak”! Instead, I just tell him, “Steak, now”.   “Yes sir, right away”.

That’s right bitch.  I’m freakin’ hungry.   So I finish my drink.  I feel like I’ve been freed, like someone has lifted the chains off all my anxiety and my spirit has freed.  I want another drink.  Why shouldn’t I?  The drink comes just as the steak shows up.  Josh slices the steak in front of me and I catch myself drooling.  He can’t cut it fast enough for me,  but it’s finally done.   Josh walks away as I dig in. 

I’m not sure I’ve ever really tasted steak.  I mean, Dear Diary, it’s well documented in your pages that I’ve had steak before, but now, I’m so fuckin’ hungry!  I actually ate the ribeye, two slices at time.  It was fantastic!  I didn’t want to stop and when I finished I drained my drink in two gulps.  My waiter, Josh is back.  “I guess you liked it”, he says with a smile. I feel like Josh is laughing at me.  I’m kind of pissed but I smile.  He asks about dessert, but I had to decline.  I ordered another whiskey instead and asked Josh bring me the check.  It’s almost 10:30 PM after I pay.   As I walk home, my feet are starting to warm up. 

I walked for a while.  The smell.  What is that smell? Could I be hungry again?  How could so many people be wearing the same scent?  It’s maddening.

I had to come home and write this.  It’s 3:00am.  Wow.

7/22

Dear diary,

Just woke up.  It’s fucking 8:45 PM.  I’m covered in last nights dinner.  There’s rotten meat all over.  My stomach hurts.   I’d like to sue that restaurant.  My fridge is empty.  I need to go out again.   My feet and my legs feel like their dead.  They are cold and stiff.  I can barely move them.    I feel so angry about my dinner from last night.  I’d like to go rip that fuckin’ waiters greasy head off.   If I thought I could get away it I would.   I need to get my wits about me before I go out.  Deep breathes.  I’m empty and I ‘m hungry.  More deep breathes.

I’m going to clean my sheets before I go out.   It’s disgusting and I hate the smell.  I think about warm sheets wrapped about my cold legs and I think that’s what I‘m going to do.  Wash the sheets.  Thank God I’m on vacation.  I can do laundry all night if I need too.  Of course, I have a stash of quarters and everything I need in the pantry.

My laundry is down stairs now.  I’ll pull it out of the dryer in few minutes.   I had to get this down on paper.

Cont…

Dear Diary.. Help me!  I’ve lost my mind.  Mrs. Morehead from 3G was down there.  I don’t know what happened.  Why did she have to be so…bitchy?  Ok, I know it’s bad to call an old person names but how could she touch my sheets?  I was so freakin’ mad.  I told her to keep her hands off my shit.  I’m getting mad just writing this and thinking about it.  That fuckin’ old bitch.  The thought of her old fuckin’ claws touching my shit.  She just stood there with her fuckin’ jaw hanging while I told her what I thought of her.  Then she has the nerve to back up.  Like I’m gonna hit her.  So you know what?  I fuckin’ hit her!  That’ old bitch went down and started to scream.   Scream?  Well that just needed to stop.  She’s laying on her back and my hand covered her bloody yap.  She’s bleeding through my fingers.

Up to this point, I can almost justify everything.  I mean, how dare she!  But my anger is diminished.   So is Mrs. Morehead.   You see, I had to taste the blood.  I feel insane writing this.  I should have never gone down there without eating something.  Maybe I have low insulin levels or something.  Her eyes opened so wide when I bent down and took the first lick.  Holy shit.  What a fuckin’ taste.   I thought my heart would beat out of my chest.   You see, the blood was coming out of her nose.  I needed it.   That steak was like a glass of water compared to the flavor leaking on to my fingers.  Oh Diary.  My sweet fucking Diary.  The blood was coming from her nose.  Without moving my hand, I sucked that delicious flow right out of her nose.  I kept sucking and for a while, I got air mixed with the nectar.   She was wiggling around for a while, but soon, all I got was blood and Mrs. Morehead stopped breathing.

Somehow, I got a hold of my self.   I washed the evidence of my handiwork off and turned her over.  I made it look like she tripped and hit the concrete rim around the base of the washers.  I got my sheets though.  Thank god no one came in.  What’s happening to me?

Cont(2)…

Diary, I’m waiting for someone to come to the door and arrest me.  I get it now.  After Mrs. Morehead, my feet and legs felt warm.  My aching stomach was eased.  I felt calm again.  I couldn’t stop myself.  Could it be?  Are the myths and movies true?  My day sleep?  My rejection of food?  I don’t get it, though.  I have crosses all over.  Before the blood, I felt like I’m dying but after, well, I suddenly I’m normal.  It’s what I’m thinking though.  The sun is on the horizon and just a hint makes me feel as though knifes are being driven into my eyes.   Close blinds.  Must sleep.

7/23

Diary,

I had to read last nights entry to remember.  I’m so fucking hungry.  Not just the empty stomach kind.  It’s like a a sole kind of hungry.  I can’t write.  Oh God.   I know what I have to do..

Cont

I’m back.  Oh shit, what a difference.  Livin in the heart of the city is pretty handy.  I’m not proud, but I’m trying to be human about it.  I found a bum who was passed out.  I forgot a knife, so I looked for a bottle.  I finally found one that was glass and broke it.  I thought the noise would wake him up, but it didn’t.  In the end, I just covered his mouth (was my hand cold?) and jammed the broken bottle into the artery on the side of his neck (can’t remember the name).   There is no doubt what I am.  I was drooling as my mouth clamped on to his neck.  I thought I would faint at the taste of the warm flowing blood.  I actually had a hard-on.  I drank and drank until I couldn’t get anymore from him.  When he was dry, there were shards of flesh in my mouth, but they offered nothing I wanted.  I threw him in a dumpster and came back to search the Internet.

After hours on the Internet, I need to sleep.  I can’t believe the bullshit that’s out there.  I keep hoping for the Tru-Blood vampire.  My senses are not heightened, my love is not heightened and in fact, I’m having trouble remembering anything from old life.  I have crosses all over.  I don’t care about garlic other than almost all food tastes like shit.  That bum tasted just as good as the old woman.   I’m feeding by instinct.

7/24

Dear Diary. 

I understand.  I’m dying slowly.  This may be my last entry.  My mind isn’t working good.  I tried to read what I rote but it’s all fuckd.   My hunger is eating me and only drinking the people is helping.  Brb.

Fuck….I got a woman.  She looked good. Tride to remmber but I can’t see her in my mind.  Black hair dress, tall.  Her blood was good a race hourse coming into m y mouth.  I peedk below her dress.   Her boobs.  I needed to see, but I can’t remember why.  Who cares . Pain is gone.  I can sleep.

725

dairy

Neede feeding.  Caint think strate.  My doby istn working.

Feel better.  Poor little dinner person.  Person for dinner.  Same as before and my body feels better.   I fed.  I fed on a girl.  She was old not.  Mom sreamed.  She tasted doog.................

26

hungre