Limbo

Officially Perfect

ASHLEY:

"Yeah, dude, I know it's important! I'll be there, okay? No need to fuckin' nag me to death about it," I grumble into the phone.

"Chill, man, I'm not trying to nag, but you do seem to have developed a bit of a hermit mentality recently," Blasko responds. "I know things kinda went bad for you up there in Canada, but it's been four months, Ash, you need to snap out of it. And hiding out from everybody isn't going to help, anyway."

"Well, neither does the party animal mentality. Trust me, I tried it," I retort. "Look, I understand what you're saying, and I'm trying to get my head together, really, but it just doesn't seem to be working."

He's quiet for a couple of seconds, and when he starts talking again, his voice is sort of hesitant, almost like he's afraid to say what he's thinking. "Umm... Have you thought that maybe you should, I dunno... Talk to somebody?"

So they've reached the point of thinking that I need therapy or something, and I can't honestly say that there might not be something to the idea. "The thought has crossed my mind, but I'm not sure how I'd explain the situation to anybody without having them try to commit me. Hell, you were about ready to have all of us locked up when we told you about everything!"

"Yeah, I guess I can see how that might present a bit of a challenge," he admits. "But if things don't get better soon, maybe you should try to think about it anyway, without discussing the whole 'ghost' thing. Seriously, dude, everybody's pretty concerned about you. Nobody want's to see you go off the deep end or anything."

Oh, lovely, this doesn't bode well at all. But I guess I can't blame them for being concerned, when even I know that I haven't been anything remotely resembling my normal self since we came back. So I say, "Okay, tell you what. I'll try to make this thing tonight the start of my... 'personal comeback', let's call it. And if I can't get back on track within the next week or so, then I'll consider getting an appointment with somebody."

"Good, that's pretty much what I was hoping to hear," he tells me. "But I'm gonna let ya go now, and I'll see you tonight. Later, Ash."

After I put down my phone, I sort of flop into the couch and groan. I'd kind of been thinking about finding some sort of excuse to blow off going to the awards show that Blasko called to bug me about, but that obviously won't fly now. So, unfortunately, I guess I'm just gonna have to suck it up and put on my happy face for the night.

But, I also have to acknowledge that the funk I've been in since that day at the hospital probably isn't good for anybody, especially myself. I managed to hold up well enough to finish the last bits we needed to record before we had to leave, and to keep APFI afloat, but other than that, I was a mess. It actually got so bad for a while after we got back home that the guys went to Dina and had her hire a P. I. to see if he could track Rachel down, but no such luck. He managed to figure out that she was on a plane that crossed into the States, but after that it's like she dropped off the face of the earth. So I guess I have to assume that she doesn't want to be found, and learn to live with it. I can't really blame her for hating my guts, because I know I deserve it, but I just wish I'd had the chance to apologize to her, even if she never wanted to see me again afterward.

I even tried to jump back into my normal 'playboy' lifestyle for awhile, but it just doesn't quite have the same appeal anymore. For the first three weeks or so after we got home, I was essentially banging any chick who would give me the time of day, which would normally be my idea of Paradise, but the more I did it, the worse I felt about myself. Then, one morning as I was basically skulking out of my bedmate's apartment, desperately hoping that she didn't wake up, it occurred to me that I'd never even bothered to find out what her name was, and that what I was doing wasn't any better than what I'd accused Rachel of. So I quit, and as of right now, I haven't gotten laid in a little over three months, unless you count the few times I've had to jerk myself off to relieve some tension. Don't think I'll drop that little bomb on the guys, though, or they might be the ones looking into having me put away.