Wheeeee. Hi beautiful. I almost made it. Without writing you since Friday... Just 10 hours to go.
But there are ghosts in here. Madeline sees them and I feel them. So I have to talk to you. Till they go away. I like seeing your name up there... In my Recipient line. To: To you. It's like a name from Jane Austen. I've told you before? It's unreal and unbelievable like you. Unreal and unbelievable. Somebody's sooooooooooo damn lucky.
I'm a bit intoxicated. I don't want to say too much here. I want to talk to you in person, with all the magic chemicals floating around between us, your blue and white and my red and blue shots of waterflames, watercolors bursting and blending at the midpoint and glowing indigo all over the room. Not in here, in the dark, with these silly ghosts in all the corners, trying to creep me out and capsize my dreams.
My dreams have been mixed and miscommunicated- I'm talking to you on the phone and the world's flying by, poorly edited jumpcuts, from the keys to the door to the road to the glare on the windshield to the bustling street to the hang-up to the wake-up and I'm getting upset and I'm watching myself say things I don't want to say and you hang-up. But they're just stressdreams. They're old-hat. The other dreams are beautiful, going up elevators made of glass, fast, overlooking skylines of the city. Have I said I like the way you dress. Ha.
I spent Saturday night after work tossing and turning for probably eight hours and I thought I hadn't slept but I woke from the dream and it was two in the afternoon. But I bucked up and got myself to work, and stayed there the three hours until I made up my outstanding balance to you and then I went home. Four sixteen.
Hey you know what's funny. It wasn't really four-sixteen. I mean it wasn't really six-six-six. It couldn't possibly be. I think it was six-sixty maybe. 660? It doesn't matter, but it's funny that you said that. You said six sixteen but you can keep the extra dollar... Like it was 666. ;-) Silly. It wasn't really, was it? Imagine.
What else is funny is that Madeline isn't really doing rooster-calls. That's just her voice. She's like Billie Holiday meets Alvin, Simon, and Theodore, with an Italian accent. I'll show you. I showed her those cats talking and she said, Boorrrrrg! ...I left it alone. What can you say to that, you know?
That's it. The ghosts are gone as far as I can tell. Good morning. See you in a few...