I’m back in the wrist brace today, so it’s not going to be much in the way of blogging because it hurts to type.

I met a masked vampire last night and she rocked my world. She was still wearing the mask this morning. We were at Untitled and at a private party in Bricktown. Yummy.

Masks are funny things. I had this class in college about Irish literature. It resulted in my only bigotry: I dislike the Irish. One of the things I learned, however, stuck with me. It’s that we have this public face that we put on as we go about our everyday lives. We mask with our real face the real person underneath. We tell the little white lies about how we’re doing (“fine!”) and put on a smile, even if we feel like hammered shit. We mask with our real faces the lust we feel for the person we see walking by so that they will not know what it is we’re thinking. On the other hand, when we put on a mask, the real person comes out. We lose that inhibition we have about revealing ourselves since we’re masked, and therefore anonymous.

Last night was magical in another respect. It was “fall back” night with the clock. Since the first time we had 1 a.m. to 2 a.m. would immediately be repeated at the time change, it seemed like anything that happened that hour was lost to the world and could be relived as we wished. Oh my. She bit my neck. There was very little blood. It was like a little death. Le Petite Morte. And then it was 1 a.m. again. I can’t be a vampire. Never to see my own reflection in a mirror again? Not worth the everlasting life for someone as vain as me.

Maybe it was a dream. A lusty fantasy. The house is quiet now. There are no reminders or some bit of detritus left to confirm what seemed to happen. No name or telephone number. No note. No email. Just a whisper in my ear of affection and desire. Does this happen in real life? Is this life real? Are there magical beings that inhabit our world? Do they leave early Sunday to go to church with their parents?

… parting is such sweet sorrow …