Something very weird happened to me tonight. I went out with my beautiful friend T for the first time in a long time. For a while I’d been doing this dance with her where I’d tell her I’d meet her out and not show up. I was kind of over the scene or be seen scene. I’m at the point where I just want to shake my ass, not stand around with my thumb up my ass mentally assessing my imperfections and participating in random non-versations with random non-friends.

Tonight T and I went to a very penis-heavy party at LAX where the man to woman ratio can only be likened to your local fire department. I ran into the Harry to my Sally and did some heavy flirting and entertaining of latter evening impossibilities. I spend half the night shaking my posterior and the other half breaking my neck looking for the one person I did want to see. Chances of sighting? Bleak.

I found solace at one of the outdoor patios watching T and some of her friends smoke cigarettes. “I’m on day three of not smoking for the day. I’M ON DAY THREE. I’m practically a non-smoker,” I tell myself. Not surprisingly, this is not comforting. Not even a little bit. But somehow it still works.

For reasons that still escape me, I’ve been cajoled into going to Teddy’s. Ah, door people. It really is a skill to be that much of an asshole. The door people give T and I grief. Apparantly there's a dress code now and jeans don't satisfy the code. This reminds me of invitations Puffy sent out for his Bday party at Cipriani's that read "PLEASE DO NOT DiSTURB THE SEXY." It's amazing how some people's superficiality knows no bounds. (e-hem, not name-dropping, I READ about it here. I prefer to keep my inner circle un-celebrity, thanks.) This is my chance to escape. And yet I’m still here. I grow tired by the second.

My other friend Jason is ringing me asking for my company at The Bar. I’m too tired to even make up an excuse. “No, it’s not happening” is all I can muster. I’ve got text messages waiting from another asking for an episode’s length of my time. All I can think of is my bed. I reply “Grim.”

I tell T that Teddy’s is lame and that we’re not missing out on anything. I tell her this but it means little as the principle is apparently being compromised. I understand so I support her in a very half-assed fashion.

Bed. Pillow. Bed. Pillow. Me on Bed. Head on Pillow.

I’m finally in my car. Jason rings in once more. “There’s dancing” he says. You know I’m tired when even dancing is not enough to incentivise me. I’m tired. I’m yawning. I don’t even want to go to a boy’s house to kiss him. That’s tired.

I don’t really know how I got this way. I’m slapping myself on the face and driving with the A/C on. Not even track number 12 on my new favourite CD is keeping me from wanting to fall the fuck out.

I turn left on Fletcher. Right at the 5 underpass my car is blanketed in this white fluffy cloud. It’s totally white all around like some over achieving fog machine was following me. My lights only exaggerate this effect. I slow to a crawl. There are no cars around me, or rather, if there were any, I still wouldn’t have been able to see them.

I turn off my CD player, because I suspect that there is something about silence that will all the sudden make this all make sense. I was wrong. I’m too scared to open my window and I feel really strange. I feel really alone and detached from everything.

I started wondering to myself. Did I fall asleep and die? I think back and really ponder this. Did I die? Did I really die this close to my own birthday? Did I die this close to the anniversary if my own sister's death? All these morbid thoughts came to me. I wondered if death was really this seamless. Did I just die in a car accident and without pause I’m all the sudden driving in a cloud? I'm thinking, when did did happen? Was it when I was on Franklin? Did I run a red at that light when I was rushing to catch the yellow? Aren't I supposed to be walking down a long tunnel with a light at the end? Are people talking fast and running their hands over my body right now trying to save me? Is this what it was like for Mary when that car made a left turn into her in the night? Does my mom know yet? Did my brother feel it?

I am thinking really fast and suddenly I realize I’m more alert than I have been all night. This just lends itself to the “I am dead” theory. In death there is no exhaustion, right? Because that would for real suck eggs. I somehow maneuver my way onto the 2 and still seem to be the only occupant of this magic cloud ride. I really let my mind get carried away from any semblance of reality. At this point, I’m pretty convinced that I’m dead. I’m not even fazed. I keep looking around waiting for something to happen, half expecting my sister or my grandfather to apparate in my passenger seat.

The only thing that happens is that I see the red lights of a car merging onto the lane to my right about a hundred feet up. I drive fast to catch up and no sooner than I catch up to the ghost car am I out of the fog. I realize there’s been a fire. I realize I’m alive. I realize I’m fucking awake now and I should either be kissing a boy or dancing with friends. But instead I’m here writing this.

I have a feeling that Day four of not smoking for the day will be a lot easier now that I’ve come back to life. Living rules.