It was a hat.

A non-descript hat, one that sat upon my head and showed the world how my brain worked. It was a top hat, one with red and blue fur, and it was easily crushable.

I'm losing what's left. I hope it'll come back, though. It always does. Usually at the end of April, but now it's the worst. I'm losing my memories, my train of thought, my soul. The last few days have just been one continuous blurry haze; my music sounds broken and messed up, and my world looks very flawed; fuzzy and swirly at times.

But it'll come back, though. It always does.

There was a car. This one had a black hood, and a white body. Three noders climbed inside, and together, they went across the valley. They went to Wilsonville, and to Newberg, and to Sherwood.

I was one of them.

Fry's is not the place to be if you're sensory/mentally sick. Everything just blurs together, both picture and sound, making English/Speak even more unintelligible. Just stand still, or follow Blister or Spike; they know the way. And the way they went was a way that was very confusing indeed.

But I was here.

To Newberg. There was a payphone. I used it to call back home and check in.

"Who are you?"
"Huh? What's wrong?" I shifted to my left a few inches and tried again.
"Yeah?" It worked.
"I'm gonna be at Sherwood a while, alright?"
"Sure. Just come back." He was always lenient, I think.

There was an abandoned movie theater. The hat was perched atop my head. I followed Spike around the place, while he was sitting in every seat. I amused myself by raising up the cup holders. There were 259 seats, I remember that. But Blister was long gone; he said he was going to do the girl next door. What next door? I didn't get it.

After the arm rests were raised, Blister and Spike took a sleep on the seats, with about four or five seats apiece. I sat a couple seats away, thinking. Thinking about my brain. Trying desperately to keep the world together.

There was a forest. There was also a signboard with a map tacked on it, and a flashlight laying on the ground.

"Hey. Tanis. Does anyone know we're here?" Spike asked.
"I'm not sure."

I had to use the bathroom. I left the auditorium, auditorium No. 5, and walked off to the toilets. This place was no longer abandoned, but there were people milling about. All kinds of people. Not that many, though. The hat was still there.

I arrived in the theater once more. There was something on the screen: they kept referring to something called 20wenty. It couldn't be that, no. That was blatent deception by my visual cortex.

Only another week. Then I remember.