As it goes the nights are all crumpling into one long stream of moonlight. Nothing really stands out anymore as if they have made a choice to become inconspicuous, fade into the stretching of time. I don't exactly recall much of what has happened the past few days. Neither do I feel like it is important to. It is only important to know who I spent it with and was I happy. And I think, I know who I spent it with, and yes, I was probably happy for the most part.

What does stand out, dancing anomalies in Butter Factory, instead of the usual body-waving-hair-tossing-booty-shaking dancing sometimes we would bust out the robot, or the wiper, or anything-but-sexy moves. So much unpretentiousness, no need to seem to be the sexy girl the club harbors. Just fun, just laughing. Do what makes you laugh.

What else? I fear my own flaws will overtake me, which is fine. If you let a piece of paper burn on its own it will simply turn to ashes, and all that other people must do is simply sweep it up. But if you let a piece of paper burn on a pile of papers... everything will still turn to ash, but what a big pile it would be. I sense myself stirring a pot of trouble and its fumes creeping beyond my control. Milk says, once you've spilt me you can't put me back. The lesson is not not to cry about it. The lesson is, don't fucking spill the milk. I think I can only pray that what I have given is enough, and now I must learn to shut my mouth and wait. As long as my anxious heart beats within the cage of my bones, hopefully, somehow, things will be alright.