Dream, that's all you can.

February 28, 2008 is the sort of day I can only remember pieces about. There's lots of pieces, some of them fit together, but for the most part, it's all a jumbled mess of a day.

I remember driving faster than I've ever driven through the canyon, only to find a huge black cloud rising from downtown. At which point I thought, "Why am I speeding? Am I going to put out the fire?". I remember gagging when the fire department let us close enough to the Golden West where we could finally see the full extent of what had happened. I remember the huge, overwhelming sense of relief when the fire department let us inside the El Rey, seeing our precious dance floor flooded with gallons of water. In a weird way, it didn't look out of place. I remember the smell, oh God, that smell. It still makes me cringe. I remember sitting on curb, in between Kyle and Joe Anderson, eating a sandwich. we were waiting for something. I have no idea what. I remember Kathy screaming at ATF to be nice to our staff. I remember sitting down in her house with a yellow tablet and a pen, trying to figure out exactly where to start.

I thought about having some kind of memorial service in the Golden West (actually, I thought we should have a fun jump and a keg in there). I thought about getting a memorial tattoo today, just something to symbolize the year that's gone by. But, the way it's worked out, I decided the best way to honor my fallen comrade was to let the anniversary pass by, quietly and gracefully. It's what she would have wanted. If you don't believe that those walls could talk, then I don't know what to tell you. I think that's why we all miss it so much. She had some good stories. But really, she still does. She would tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself, go to work, and maybe throw down a shot or two later on in the night.

Last night was the first night I cried over the fact that someone could have been in there when the fire broke out. I guess that has a lot more to do with my Grandfather. He would have loved that place.

So, after a year, it's still there, four walls and a wooden floor, the skeleton of its former self. We lose certain parts and pieces of our lives at any given time, but we find just as much as we lose. I guess that's what I needed to learn this past year.

That being said... Seriously. Get me out of February.