I lose time.

Sometimes hours. Sometimes days.

The medical specialists call it a "fugue" state.

Sydney calls it "when Daddy goes blank".

I call it "abduction."

Perhaps if I had called it something else, I wouldn't be a veritable laughingstock in the business community. Perhaps I could've gotten full custody of my girl. Perhaps I wouldn't be here in Roswell, New Mexico, running a UFO Center...tracking pulses of energy and atmospheric disruption.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

My life is full of perhapses.

I wake up and think, "Perhaps today I'll get a Galaxy Sub at the CrashDown, gawk at Maria a bit inconspicuously, and watch the telly for the rest of the day."

And then I lose time.

And I wake up again. In a New York City cab as the Paki driver hollers at me to pay up and get out as "this is not being a fucking sleeping car!"

I kiss the picture of Syd in the Christmas pageant that sits on my nightstand and go to sleep, thinking, "Perhaps tonight, I'll get some rest, and I'll dream of where I've been, and I'll remember the dream."

And then I go into a fugue.

And I wake up again. In a dank alley. Covered in mud and what could possibly be dogshit. Still wearing my pajamas. And with a blistering headache.

Every day, I think "perhaps today is the day." Perhaps today is the day I will remember it all. I will know who took me. Or perhaps today, god forbid, is the day they'll stop doing it...the day they'll decide they don't want me anymore and I can lead a normal life with my daughter.

And then Daddy goes blank.

And I wake up again...right?

But what if I *don't* wake up again?

What if, one day, I close my eyes for the last time?

Do I call that "abduction"? Really? Or do I call it "death"?

How will I know the difference?

Will I know if they are angels or aliens?

Do aliens sing?

Do angels use anal probes?

Perhaps I'll never know.

And perhaps I will.

My life is full of perhapses.

And I am empty.

March 7, 2001.