I Could Write It Better Than You Ever Felt It

The next week or so was nothing but a dull blur.

Everything was back to normal.
Everything.
Not one thing was out of place...

Well, except for my thoughts. As much as I tried to convince myself that my All Time Low experience was all a dream, I just couldn't bring myself believe that.

Becki had visited my house the day after I 'woke up.' She talked about the classes she was going to be taking in her upcoming semester of college, and about all the things she still needed to buy for her dorm room. Normal things.
She had no idea that she had been at a party for Pete Wentz's mother a few days ago...

My mom believed I was coming down with a cold, so she didn't really question why I was acting so lethargic and anti-social. She started buying lots of orange juice in hopes that it would help. I was afraid it would take more than orange juice to make me feel better. I felt lost. All that time I wanted to go home and finally here I was. But something was still missing. Nothing made sense. I needed answers.

It was hard to concentrate on anything. I couldn't stop thinking about All Time Low. This could not be healthy.

Getting back to my normal every day schedule was just as stressful. Who wants to go back to working in a grocery store after they just finished living on a tour bus with their favorite band? Talk about a buzz kill.

"Feeling any better today?" My mother asked me as I walked into the kitchen. I had just endured my first day back to work. It was as borring and uneventful as it always is. It was a slow day today, and that only gave me more time to think. I had a headache.

"Yeah. I just have a lot on my mind..." I shrugged. She took a sip of her coffee before getting up from her seat at the kitchen table.

"Maybe you should try writing it all down?" She suggested. I let out an obnoxious laugh.
No way I was writing down anything anymore.

"I don't think that will help." I wished I could tell her the whole story without sounding like a maniac.

"Just a thought."
She gave me a comforting smile before leaving the kitchen. I followed suit and headed towards the stairs. I stopped in the bathroom on the way to my room. As I was washing my hands I took in my reflection in the mirror. Same brown hair, but no purple streaks. No tattoo on my wrist, either. I almost missed those things. I had to remind myself that that was Alice Wentz, and she was gone now.

Try writing it all down? My mothers suggestion lingered in my brain as I walked down the hall.

It reminded me of something.

I hadn't even taken off my work uniform yet before I was tearing apart my room.

"Urg, where is it?!" I asked myself out loud after about 15 minutes of searching.

The journal was no where to be found. I sighed, giving up.

"I don't know where else it could be. I left it on my desk the night before...the night before..." I trailed off. I was talking to myself. Perhaps I really was going crazy.

It wasn't a dream.

It couldn't be a dream.

I need something to prove that this was real. That I'm not crazy. That I'm not obsessing and dedicating my every thought and concern to something that was just a stupid dream I had. I fell back into my bed. I hoped that my sleep would take me back to that tour bus, just one more time. I missed the band so much. I missed the fun and adventure. I missed Alex, and I missed talking to him about the things that no one else could possibly understand.