forgive
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Sun Apr 01 01 / 6:23 AM My first thought upon waking Saturday morning was, "Not again." And since then, I've done everything to not think about it. I woke up in a hospital bed with vomit in my hair and a half-empty bag of warm fluid dripping into my arm. The striped curtain, the stiff white sheets, the quiet 6 am dimness; a scene so familiar I didn't realize I hadn't been in this particular hospital before. Twice in six months, three times in five years. It wasn't so long ago that numbers used to mean something to me; you wouldn't think giving them up for words would have such an effect. But even still ... it's not the bruises on my chest or the foulness on my clothes that I care about - it's that the ones that care about me had to see it. I feel embarrassed and stupid and weary, and they don't even know the half of it. I wanted fame, not notereity. I wanted to be known, but not for something such as this. I have this desperate desire to try and recreate the night, but in a more successful light of course. This may be the only time I want to speed up the clocks; to put as many good memories behind me so that no one remembers the bad one underneath. Putting the clocks ahead one hour today was a strange comfort; but that it was April Fool's Day reminded me of the greater discomfort.
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Lisa Higgs
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