The Blank

Waking up at some abandoned S-Bahn station near Potsdam on Saturday morning was my first sign things had gone wrong. The bruises on my ass were the second. The complete blank where the night should be was the third. I have fragments—herbal schnapps, a guy named Jimi Blue, weird figures in the Oranienburger—but they don’t thread together. There’s a good chance I ended up in some German fail-compilation show, which feels about right. You wake up in the wrong place with marks on your body and you just accept you went there wrong.

After that, the days went small. Finally watched the Futurama film. Loaded music onto my iPod. Bought Mian Mian’s Candy even though I’d already read it in German—her books have this way of circling back on themselves. Been wanting to get it for a while.

Today was shopping with Sonja, which means hunting for purple clothes and being honest about all the places our bodies don’t work right. We demolished a chocolate cake at Kaiser’s. Tomorrow back to that school thing, boring and strangely thrilling at once, and the week just keeps moving.

Hope your week’s being strange too.