© 2012 Timmy Tamisiea. All rights reserved. Oh, hey, Megan!  I found Sunday.  It was right here.

246/365 – Lost Sunday

Our time in LA and the preceeding drive here has left Megan and I in a daze.  Days are stringing together like one long roll of Fruit by the Foot, minus the high fructose corn syrup.  I take mental notes of the days so that I can record them here, as I know I’m getting more and more behind on these posts.  For the most part, there alsways some big event or activity that we have done to help benchmark the day and make it a writable day.  This Sunday, a week later, and I swear, I can’t remember what we did.  The whole day is a blur.  Did we go out?  Did we stay in?  What the hell happened?

Bob, I was with you . . . what the hell did I do later? TELL ME!

We didn’t get drunk.  I can safely say that.  If that were the case, I can tell you, I would remember the hang over.  I DON’T FORGET HANGOVERS.  We didn’t go shopping as my bank account shows no activity on that day.  UNLESS I STOLE MEGAN’S CARD!  I vaguely remember going to eat at Bob’s Big Boy . . . . but then again, I feel like that was on Saturday.  WAS IT?  We may have rented the movie The Innkeepers from a Redbox down the street . . . but again, I think that was Saturday.  SATURDAY, ARE YOU DRESSED IN DISGUISE AS SUDNAY?

Come here, Sunday. I just want to talk to you.

This Sunday is like some void.  Did Will Smith zap me with his MIB thingy to wipe my memories away?  Seriously . . . this bugs me. What the hell did I do in this day?  When I got married, people said time would move so quickly, but this is nonsense.  Is there a possibility I committed some horrific crime that I’ve blocked from my memory to keep me sane?  Perhaps I was abducted.  That’s an option . . . of course, of all the people in LA to abduct, I feel like I’m pretty low on that list.  I just can’t figure out what the hell happened.

If anyone deserves to get abducted, it’s these spoiled bitches.

I don’t have any tatoos to remind me of the day.  No messages or e-mails to myself.  I think I would have been smart enough to lay down some kind of clue so that I wouldn’t be going crazy.  Is this some kind of LA blackout syndrome?  Is this my welcome to the world of Hollywood.  I don’t do coke . . . . OR DO I?

No! Stop it! You’re just confusing me more!

I could have done any number of things, including saving the world, buying a yacht, killing a terrorist . . . you know what, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I watched TV and played video games.  Let’s just leave it at that.  Video games and TV.  That’s a safe bet.  Welcome to LA, buddy.

Oh, hey, Megan! I found Sunday. It was right here.

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