This motel has Cable TV. It doesn’t even have clean sheets and it has cable. Seriously, the priorities of life are sometimes confusing to me. Then again, everything is confusing when you are having the week I’m having. I bet it is easier to keep the cable bill paid in this neighborhood than it is to find good cleaning crews. I’ve been watching a metric ton of AMC. That channel knows where it is at.
Isabelle showed up again and wanted to know about the circumstances leading up to my current involvement with the porcelain god. “Not much to say,” I tell her and she doesn’t move. Just stares at me like she is trying to read my mind, her eyes not really blank, and not really power drills, but somewhere in the middle. Trance like. Instead of thinking inwardly it is like she is thinking in my head, or trying to. Which is when I noticed the TV directly behind he. There is Betty Draper.. Francis.. Sitting on her bed talking on the phone to Don. She is dying, lung cancer. Don is all busted up and Betty is all being Betty. Isabelle is just being Isabelle but I can’t help but notice that my reference last time about the 60s house wife is very much true. Isabelle and Betty could be the same person if Isabelle had any idea what it was like to be human. So far she hasn’t showed any sign of it. I wonder if vampires can get sick. Vamp cancer would probably be something bloody and terrible.
She blinks. Which draws me back to her. She hardly ever blinks. “Will you write about it?” She asks.
“Maybe,” I shrug just as I double over in pain from the flow of my insides into the outside world. She doesn’t flinch even with the stink, which must be overpowering for her senses. When it passes I continue.
“Not much to tell, just like last time, Jesus tried to turn me or whatever you call it.” His real name isn’t Jesus, I just call him that because the dude loves to pretend he is gods gift to humans. I’m not using anyone’s real name on this blog. It’s one of the ‘rules’. Besides I bet none of them are using their real names either. I met one the other day who was calling herself… shit. Can’t joke about their names if I can’t use them. Fucking vampires. “What do you call it any way? The embrace, turning, becoming, fucking, rising again?” I make this spooky horror movie noise and raise my hands above my head, which sends me into another spasm. I should not of had Henry bring me Taco Bell, tonight is going to be hard.
“We don’t.” She says. “Does he find it funny to try to wrap you in our power?” I’m too doubled over in pain to reply for a minute. Not even to point out that she is stretching to not use a word in the list I just used. She tilts her head to the other side like she is examining me.
“He must, he laughs the whole time he is doing it. You think he’ll stop now that I’m your… whatever I am?”
“Journalist.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I’m a photojournalist, or wanted to be once, but failed at that. Besides this blog can’t have pictures, it’s a rule.
Then she turns and leaves. I yell after her, “Who picked the fucking name of the site.. it’s shit you know that. Should of named it Shitting Blood!”
She probably heard me. Super vamp powers are cool like that from what I hear.
At least the end of Mad Men was kinda happy. I hope I have my ‘om’ moment sometime. Probably not.