Strange as it may seem, this life is based on a true story." - Ashleigh Brilliant
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True blue Scorpio
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June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006
Saturday, October 11, 2003
I write this with a headache, and not much sleep. Forgive the sloppiness.
Last night we had to put Gilly to sleep. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I really can't talk about it.
Baret and I came home and got sloshed, and ambled up to bed around midnight. We, as we often do, left the door open so JoJo could come and go as he pleased and because it felt so nice outside.
About 4am, we heard the sounds of windchimes - I have some hanging downstairs. Coming out of a drunken sleep, I also heard my keys jingling in the door where they sat. Baret sat up, thinking quicker than me, and saw a black man leaving my apartment! He yelled "Wtf?!" and ran downstairs. He told me what he saw and when I looked over, I saw my keys missing. "I heard the keys - the keys" I told him, still half-asleep and groggy. Still thinking quicker than me, he ran outside. I heard him all the way outside yell "Fuck!" and he came running back in. He grabbed the phone and I heard him saying "My car was just stolen."
What a fucking night. This guy now has keys to my apartment, and he knows my name (my badge for work was in the car). We think he must've staked us out, b/c he went straight to the correct car. My key, though obviously a car key, was a copy. It did not say Miata on it. Somehow he knew we sometimes sleep with the door open. Usually when we do this, we lock the gate to the patio. But in our grief-inspired drunk, we neglected to last night.
The cop was a fucking asshole to us. "You left your door unlocked?" he asked, like we were the two dumbest idiots in the whole world. It's a big thing around here lately - what with the serial killer in the last year, and the recent capture of a "serial snuggler" (for real). But we were drunk and in mourning - we were stupid, ok?! He was so rude - we offered him a glass of water and when he left Baret thanked him and told him to have a good nite; he didn't even answer him. Next time I see a fucking sign that says "Back the Blue! Pay raise in 2003", I'm going to rip it in half.
I'm Gillian-less and carless. We were supposed to leave for camping tomorrow, b/c we couldn't stand to be at the house with all these memories. Everything reminds me of her. The only comfort I can find right now is imagining in my head waking up in time to see that fucker, and shooting him in the back of the head. Is that horrible of me? At least anger is keeping me going. Otherwise I might just crawl into a ball and not stop crying.