Order Into Chaos

Everything is getting too overwhelming and confusing now. I just do not know what to do.

But first, let me put this in chronological order. That is, if I still know what time is...

As I was lying in bed last night waiting for the Ambien (a sleeping pill) to take affect, I reviewed the recent happenings of this past week. I felt so foolish, like a scared little boy. What really had happened this week? Theresa, a lady friend I haven't heard from in years, called. She made a lunch engagement with me but failed to appear. I felt paranoid because an elderly man looked at me in a restaurant. I had some vague nightmares. I got an odd book from her in the mail. And I've received a series of hangup calls. So what?

It's all very simple, actually.

Theresa probably was about to do some research in my area. She wanted to see me, catch up on some old times, and she would have mentioned that she mailed a book to me, probably because she was in transit. That would explain the lack of a return address. Something must have come up and her plans were altered, and she never got around to calling me. The stress of my friends' illnesses and frustrations at work probably affected my dreams. As for the hangup calls? I could simply be having problems with the phone line, or maybe a new business in town has a similar number to mine and people quickly hang up when they realized they had dialed the wrong number.

I thought about how today's movies feed the public's neurotic fears. Hang up calls? "The Mothman Prophecies." An occultic book? "The Evil Dead." I must just be another victim of Hollywood's hysteria machine.

And with the security of my rationalization and pseudo-intellectualism, the Ambien kicked in, and I fell into a deep sleep.

This morning when I awoke, I was still a little bit groggy from the sleeping pill, but I was alert enough to quickly get out of bed, shave, shower, get dressed, and go to the kitchen for a bite to eat before heading into work.

As I sat down, I looked at Theresa's book resting on the table. I chuckled at myself for secretly feeling so superstitious about the book last night. As I drank my coffee and ate my bagel with peanut butter, I started looking through the book again.

Assuming the book is read from left-to-right, I noticed that the illustrations started out rather simplistic at first and became increasingly complex as the book continued. I also noticed more of Theresa's handwriting throughout the book, which seemed to increase further into the book. It surprised me a little that she would write in such an old book. While she didn't believe the supernatural or occultic subjects she researched, she still was respectful and wouldn't deface such an old book. Perhaps the book was very common or was completely worthless.

I noticed the time and knew I had to get going before I was late to work again. So I closed the book, grabbed my wallet and keys, and took off to the video production house.

The morning was very uneventful. I watched tape after tape of a college president waving to this group of people or to that group of people or giving out an award or receiving an award. On and on it went. Luckily, there wasn't any video footage of him from the 1970s, but as the 1980s progressed and video recorders became cheaper and more common, it seemed that every repetitive move he made was recorded. It seemed that he had more photo-ops than the average Senator. It was so boring.

But as the morning turned into noon, an uneasy feeling began creeping into my consciousness. Vague at first, more annoying than frightful, it keep pestering me as I viewed the endless library of dull tapes. And then suddenly, as if an icicle were stabbed into the back of my skull, the realization struck me!

What was Theresa's book doing on the breakfast table?

I know I had put it back in its original packaging and had placed it in the storage chest in the spare bedroom last night before going to bed! How did it end up on the breakfast table, right in front of the chair I normally sat in? I know I didn't get it back out last night. And even in my Ambien grogginess, I was definitely awake enough to know that I didn't take it out this morning. Could I have sleptwalk? How likely was that, given that I had taken a sleeping pill?

I hit the stop button on the tape deck. A sick feeling overcame me. My mind could not rationalize this quickly enough to soothe me. Something was terribly wrong.

And it only gets worse from here!

As I sat in the little video editing suite, Dave, a coworker, came in and asked if I wanted to go to lunch. I must have looked ghostly white, because he immediately asked if I were all right. I just told him that I had a lot on my mind. Another coworker, James, also came into the room ready for lunch. I just wanted to be left alone.

While they were discussing lunch plans, I had a quick inspiration. Maybe the older gentleman at the Dal Cuore Italian Restaurant knew something. It was a long shot, but I had nowhere else to turn. Besides, Theresa chose that restaurant, and he had watched me throughout, so maybe he expected to see her with me. So I quickly interupted their little debate and said we should go Italian and eat at Dal Cuore.

Dave and James just looked at me for a second before Dave laughed. I will never forget this part...

He said that would be hard to do, since Dal Cuore has been closed for nearly three weeks! He asked me if ever read the papers. (I didn't.) I started to protest and was about to say that I had eaten there last Sunday, but before I could, James added that the owner committed suicided and they had shut it down.

And it clicked into my brain. I turned my back on them, minimized the video editing software, and searched online for the obituary.

Vittorio Tabellini. Age 72. Death by self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

And I recognized the photo immediately.

My sense of santiy was screaming for help. I told my Dave and James that I had to go and ran from the office, ignoring my boss calling my name from behind me. I could not - cannot - deal with anyone right now. No one knows what has been happening - Not even me!

My first instinct was to drive to Dal Cuore and see for myself if it were closed, but I just wanted to go home. I wanted to get away from the outside world for awhile and try to process all of this. I'm still in shock now as I am typing away, documenting what might be my last days alive. I just don't know...

At first, I felt a brief sense of relief as I pulled into my driveway. But as I got out of my car, I noticed a package leaning against my door. As if in a dream, I walked up to it and picked it up. It had no return address - Just my mailing address in Theresa's handwriting. I stumbled into my apartment with it, quickly locking the door behind me.

I look at the breakfast table. Theresa's book wasn't there. I ran into the spare bedroom, checked the chest - Still no book. So I carried the package out back into the living room and opened it. An old book fell out, the corner landed directly on my left big toe. Déjà vu was nothing compared to this experience.

And so hours later, sitting alone in a darken apartment, no lunch or dinner, ignoring all phone calls, and trying to enjoy a few shots of Johnnie Walker, I am logging this experience, not knowing what to do next, not knowing what to think. My "victimhood of the Hollywood hysteria machine" theory no longer comforts me.

A Package Arrives

For two days, it seemed as if the brief aberration in my routine during the weekend was behind me. No more strange dreams, no more bouts of paranoia, and no more thoughts of Theresa. The ordinary, mundane stresses of my life took center stage once again; The deadline for a video project at work (a tribute program for a retiring college president) is beginning to loom ever closer, and I still have volumes of archival footage to scour through. And so that is how I spent my day.

However, the normalcy of my day ended once I returned home. Leaning against my front door was a medium-sized postal box. There was no return address, but the section addressed to me was clearly in Theresa's handwriting. For reasons I still do not understand, I had a sudden, irrational urge to quickly toss the package away unopened. I never behaved so childishly or cowardly before when I used to associate with Theresa years ago, so I have no explanation as to why these unsettling impulses have gripped me so much since her call last Saturday night.

Once inside, I opened the package, and an old book fell out, the corner landed directly on my left big toe. Cursing to myself, I picked up the book and put it on the table in front of me. I looked through the rest of the packing materials to see if there was a letter included but nothing - only the old, musty book.

I skimmed the first few pages of the book. I could not make sense of the writing at all. It was a script that I have never seen before. I will be the first to admit that I am no linguistic expert, but I am familiar with various alphabets and character sets from both foreign and ancient languages - I have been exposed to several cultures from all the stock and archival footage I've had to search through over the past few years working at a video production house.

But one thing I knew for sure - This book was either a religious or an occult tome of some sort. Theresa (full name Theresa Kirchner) is (or at least, was) a researcher and lecturer on rare and unusual religions, strange occult practices, and paranormal research. Interestingly enough, she was completely skeptical on the subjects that she lectured. Although more of an agnostic than an atheist, she never performed or believed in any of the topics she researched. She was more of a historian or a documenter on these esoteric subjects - At one point, we even discussed creating a documentary on some of what she discovered.

But as for now, it is me, all alone, flipping through a cryptic book with rather artful illustrations throughout: Lots of strange, intricate geometric shapes, depictions of overlapping galaxies, and mirrored images of humanoid portraits.

As I turned a page, I saw scribbled in Theresa's handwriting, "EXPONENTIAL DIVISION - AWARENESS FOLLOWS," in large letters.

Suddenly, the phone rang. It was another hangup call - The first one since Monday. I could now sense my paranoia returning, so I put the book back in its packaging and placed it in an old storage chest in the spare bedroom.

I don't have time for this silliness now. It's nearly 7:30pm, and I still need to do laundry before going to bed.

Unwanted Dreams

Today has been a bleak day for me, and all because of the strange dreams I had last night.

My restless night was filled with unsettling dreams of the older gentleman I saw in the restaurant yesterday and of Theresa. The impression I had in the dreams was that Theresa was desperately wanting to tell me something but the older gentleman somehow kept her from communicating with me. The whole mood was omnious and dark, yet I cannot for the life of me remember any specific details of the dreams.

Twice today I had hangup calls - Each time I had thought it might have been Theresa calling me back. I felt my heart race each time I answered the phone. I think I've just been under too much stress, what with work the way it is and the illnesses of two of my closest friends.

I feel like I am just being silly, letting my imagination get the better of me. Probably in a few days, this feeling will pass, and I will be back to my normal, apathetic self. There is some sense of security in being stuck in a rut sometimes.

Lunch For One

I went to Dal Cuore Italian Restaurant a little before 12pm. Noon came and went, but Theresa never appeared. I can't say I wasn't surprised, but still I was disappointed.

I was about to call her to see if anything came up, but then I realized that I didn't have her phone number anymore. And she didn't have my cell phone number, so she couldn't have called me either.

I did call my answering machine to check for messages. Only two: One was a hangup call, the other was a telemarketer offering a special for family portraits (I live alone). I doubted the hangup call was from her, so I assume she simply changed her mind about seeing me. Just as well.

I ordered lunch for myself and left after 1pm.

Something is bothering me though - Just a nagging feeling. I'm not one for paranoia - The last time I really ever felt self-conscious was when I was a teenager. But I really felt that one of the patrons at the restaurant kept watching me. He was an older gentleman, clean-cut, well dressed, but not quite like a businessman. Probably a retiree.

Of course, it's common to accidentally make eye contact with a stranger, and then as a form of compulsion, keep looking back to see if he is still looking at you. It's often funny because the stranger must feel the same way as well and will look back too, thus making repetitive eye contact. A vicious-cycle of paranoia.

But for some reason, this felt different. Perhaps it's my lack of sleep last night, but I felt very uneasy as he furtively eyed me. I don't know why I'm even bother mentioning it - Just something that is hard to shake off my mind at the moment.

Well, enough for now. Back to my domestic chores...

Late Night Call

It's well after midnight, and I still can't sleep since Theresa's call. It's been at least 4 years since I last spoke with her - I couldn't believe it when I heard her voice on the phone tonight!

She said she wanted to see me tomorrow for lunch. I asked if she was well, if everything was okay, and she said "yes." I have no reason to doubt her, she sounded calm. But yet, she was curt, very business-like. She seemed to have no interest in talking about the past or even current events. Just wanted to make a luncheon date... Actually, it was more like a business meeting.

I remember the last time I saw her. I was always infatuated with her, but she never encouraged it, and I always respected our friendship. But then suddenly, she quit calling, quit sending me emails, broke off all communication with me. I just assumed my attention for her finally made her too uncomfortable, or perhaps she found someone she loved and didn't want any conflicts.

Oh well... Tomorrow, I will finally see her again, maybe get some answers. I know I won't figure it out tonight. I should really try to just get some sleep and forget about it until tomorrow.

Drifting Stars

I just learned the joy of blogs today, so I decided to create two.

My first one, The Slacker Shack (formerly known as "Oblivion - Embracing Our Obscurity"), is a basically my daily journal - A sort of pseudo-documentary of a person who wishes to express his artistic impulses (primarily music), despite emotional difficulties and "terminal" self-doubt. I also hope it will attract others with a similar mindset and will become a quasi-support group for other struggling artists, but that is probably too idealistic a goal.

This blog, Drifting Stars, is a completely fictional piece. It is a self-indulgent, creative exercise in depicting the life of an ordinary person who seems to have fallen into extraordinary circumstances. Remember: This blog is only fiction!

Be safe and have fun!
Drake