Tuesday July 12 2011

DREAM: In a mall-like atmosphere—a crowd of people around me. Something bad is happening outside the building, something apocalyptic, and all of us are huddled up in here to stay safe. I’m sitting in a restaurant booth next to one of Margot’s friends, whom I don’t recognize. Margot is across from us but gets out of her seat. I’m flirting with the girl next to me encouraging us to engage in sexual acts. Margot shows her disdain. In my mind, this is only a dream—no consequences—no worries—do whatever you want.

I try to comfort her in a genuine way, “Baby, it’s okay! It’s just a dream.”

But Margot is not having it. She throws a fit, pulling out the expensive flashlight she bought at Target in waking like—the handle flashes purple. She aims it wildly shooting off rounds at random. I try to restrain her because she’s becoming a danger to the group.

“Margot! Stop!”

I grab the flashlight gun and press the button to switch off the power. She’s able to get one last round out before I do. And a flying object that’s understood to be a bomb shoots out past all of us, then bounces back in the middle of the room. After coming to a complete stop it makes a mechanical noise then attaches itself to the floor. A light smoke excretes through the top.

“It’s a smoke bomb! Everybody hold your breath and get outside! Now!”

All of us move quickly out of the building. I pinch the shirt of the girl that was sitting next to me earlier and pull her alongside me. We make it out safely. There’s a lot of commotion. In the distance I can see flashing lights and sparks. It’s almost over. Guys in bio-suits are walking around preparing a special hideout room for the survivors.

Waking up just before 1 p.m.

Breakfast: Apple Fritter Bread with Butter. Orange Juice.

Recording at Earth Sound Studios with Mark—tracking drums with Chris.

Me: “Yeah it’s hot outside.”

Mark: “It’s disgusting.”

Lunch: Egg Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. XXX Vitamin Water.

Chris just got off work. He walks into the studio and says, “I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Me: “Ha. Ha.”

Mark went looking for some in-ear monitors. He walks into the room and says, “Mmm. It’s nice and cool. And it smells like eggs.”

Before we can even start recording we have to make sure we’re getting the drum sounds we want. The snare isn’t sounding up to par—not enough “attack”. It sounds like “a block of wood with a chain attached to it.”

After playing through 3 different snare drums and tuning and changing heads and adjusting, we get it right and reward ourselves with one completed song.

Banana and Strawberry Yogurt.

Back home.

I called Margot because I got out of the studio a little earlier than expected. But she went out with the girls and got a little drunk—she’s stuck at her house without her car. Unfortunately, her temper fails our conversation and she hangs up on me.

Dinner: Mongolian Style Beef Noodles with Mixed Vegetables and Garlic Bread.

In the kitchen, Rachel and James sit down in chairs while I cook dinner.

“…watching Robert’s Cooking Show.”

Enjoying a cold Dunkelweizen beer—listening to Gillian express her current turmoil in the group. Margot busts into my room, I mean, the door is already wide open. During the time I was relaxing and eating dinner she was calling me non-stop for the past hour. She’s livid, I mean, livid! I mean, lightening bolts are shooting out of her eyes. The interaction between the two girls is somewhat cordial…

“Um…who are you?”

“Oh I’m Darren’s sister.”

“Well I need to talk with my boyfriend so…”

As soon as we’re alone, it’s a hailstorm of negative remarks and accusations. I didn’t answer her calls because I just wanted to enjoy my dinner and chill out. I didn’t want to be stressed out. I was gonna call her back. I really was. I wanted to see her. But not like this…[[]][[]][[]][]]][[]][[]][]] It gets real heavy—her slamming the stool into the floor—her throwing my phone against the wall—her collecting all the clothes she’s bought for me (“I’m taking these back!”)—her picking up the corkscrew off the dresser, flipping out the knife blade and threatening to poke my eye out. I’ve never seen her this raging mad. I encourage us to go outside because nothing is changing and if she doesn’t leave then I’m leaving. Man, this reminds me of a time long ago back at 1623 when I ran away from her, literally: http://www.iloverobertsblog.com/2010/11/wednesday-november-17-2010.html

She slaps me across the face when I open the front door for her. Everybody hanging out inside senses the animosity. Outside, she’s threatening to go to other boy’s houses and talking about breaking up. Eventually, she’s sitting in the driver’s seat of the Saturn she borrowed from her grandparents and things are cooling down a little bit. We can’t help but notice the lightening show up in a cloud underneath the moon.

“It’s representative, Margot. If we were gods and goddesses that would be us up there having a heavenly fight.”

She’s finally in my bed half-naked and fully beautiful—being sweet and shaking her arms and legs for me to embrace her.

Making green tea is therapeutic.

Sleep 4 a.m.

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