Someday I’d like to have a car that doesn’t end up with bloodstains all over the driver’s seat. Heck, let’s shoot for the stars and make that a car without blood on any of the seats.
What I did was stupid for several reasons. Remember how I told you how magic works. That there’s a finite amount of energy that you can store and use to do it? I didn’t have enough in the tank to heal myself after getting a 12-man pounding (which sounds like the name of a porn). So I dragged myself back to Kim’s apartment feeling every bit of getting the shit kicked out of me. This is probably what normal wrestlers feel like all the time.
What I should have done is waited until I had enough magic to heal myself fully. But I couldn’t, as soon as I could heal myself a little bit I did, which just made it that much harder to build up enough energy to do anything substantial. I couldn’t help myself. It was like being thirsty and having a bottle of water in your hand but trying not to drink it.
I was so fucked up I had to cancel a show, which brought Kim around. He said that he figured for me to cancel a show, he’d find me with both legs broken at the very least. He asked me if my boyfriend beat me up. We had a good laugh at that.
He brought me some gross soup that he said was Italian and would make me feel better. Maybe the idea is that it’s so bad you pretend you feel better just to get out of having to eat any more of it. It tasted like rock salt and sweat.
While I was recuperating, I saw that I have a Wikipedia stub now. It says that my real name is Amy Lee. I kind of like that. It’s simple but it sounds tough in a way. I was thinking about going with that but then I saw that Amy Lee is the name of an emo rock lady. I watched a video where she whine-sings and walks around a trailer park with wings on.
So no. I am not Amy Lee. I’ll let her keep that one.