Vicodin

It was another lonely night and the sun had set. Somewhere in venice were displays of ghosts, death, and evil displays I was walking through. One was of a room that was artistically designed like something out of a mexican Day of the Dead dedication, with a sculpture of a mafiosa in a white suit laying dead, face back on the oversized table above me in the middle.

There was a lot of noise and someone sad something of horror and dread and evil, etc. And men begcan wearing demonlike costumes that made me uncomfortable. I left and walked around where I was trying to find my Dad's campground on the beach. For some reason I was scared. and then the beach was suddenly the middle of a desert.

I called Margo. She talked over me when I attempted to ask her a question, telling me how she went to this place called Sedona, possibly with her new lover, as if I never heard of it. I insisted that it was the place me and her went to before, but it actually wasn't, now that I think about it. She told me of how much of a great and wonderful time she had, probably with her man, and it broke my heart, as the trip we took to Yosemite turned out to be a disaster.

She really wanted to get into it, as if she wanted to explain why it was so much of a better trip with Richard than it was with me, but I wasn't trying to hear that right now, I switched to a more agressive voice and told her that I needd to find out where my dad was.

I've been having more dreams of her in it, most of which there are unpleasant and often sad emotions involved, covered up by the want to forgive, move on, and still be on good terms with one another.