It's A Wonder

It's official. My sister doesn't care for anyone but herself. Our house is a complete mess. I woke up this morning with a note on the chalkboard telling me to please wash the dishes so she could run the dishwasher. Two days ago she told me to empty the dishwasher so she could wash her dishes and load the washer. Tomorrow I can almost guarantee that I will be not only washing the rest of her dishes, but loading the dishwasher, and probably cleaning the whole fucking house for tomorrow night, when she will, most likely, trash it again. But this isn't how I want to start my day. I have other things to talk about and these trivial house-cleaning details have nothing to do with them.

For the past couple of nights I've had dreams that my life was a horror film. I don't know why, or even how I've come to have these dreams. It's not like every night before I go to bed I watch Saw or some other disturbing movie. For some reason I always wake up thinking about how all my friends have died, and I'm the only survivor. Last night I was at the mall with Stevie, Cameron...Who else I don't know...Miranda maybe? Anyways we were leaving and Stevie's mom (yes your mom, Stevie) was piling people into her car because they were going to get ice cream. I told her that I couldn't go because I had ridden my bike. I walked down a flight of stairs because I thought that was how I could get to the last level of the garage where my bike was at. The lower level turned into a hotel and maids were cleaning every room and I was tripping over vacuum cleaners' power cords. Then, Cameron followed me downstairs and out of a room two maids came with their faces torn off. They weren't like, bleeding, or anything. They just didn't have any faces. Anyways I ran upstairs and Cameron stayed and, I guess, got his face ripped off as well. Stevie's mom was waiting for me upstairs and she started cursing at me and telling me she had to leave and she didn't want to wait for me to find my bike. I was bawling, and trying to tell her about the maids with the ripped off faces, but I couldn't seem to get it out. I was running around still trying to find the entrance to the garage and I found a security guard who was shutting down the garage and I had to beg him to let me get my bike. I grabbed it and ran up some stairs and I just remember thinking "I have to go to Brandon's!". Basically, I woke up then. And I think something even stranger is that I can remember it in that great of detail.

Detail is a funny thing. Sometimes I can remember the smallest details that have nothing to do with the actual situation. Like Diana will say "Remember that time we went hiking?" and I'll say "Yeah, we were hiking behind that couple with the blue backpack.". Sometimes I wonder if anyone experiences this phenomenon. Like, I feel like such a weirdo being able to remember things like that. I feel like everyone thinks I pay extra attention to detail because I want to remember everything about my life. UNTRUE. And I think you can figure out the details I'm talking about. Like how Meet The Spartans was replaying in the background, and how his house smelled like old cigarettes and body odor, and how he had a water bed, and there was a condom wrapper lying in the middle of it, and how the sweatshirt he gave me smelled like Axe. But there's also things about that night that I can't remember, and probably would not like to anyways. Like how I woke up with a gash on the side of my head, or how I got upstairs, or how I woke up on the water bed without my shirt on. That's kind of a pattern though. First the kidnapping, now this. Next time it's going to be something really embarrassing like...a lock in or something. Which, by the way, I'm going to try and see if we can do for TASH. AWESOME.

So that's my story this morning. I'll most likely come up with more to say and have 23095823098 more entries today.

When I imagined my life leaving my body,
I could picture a clear and singular soul
taking flight, its shape nearly the shape of me,
but fogged through. I could imagine the ground
steaming as my body was given up, the very air
unendurably still. But if there is such a thing
as a soul inside me, I would rather it not
feel like I've left when I have left the world.

--What I Hope Dying Is Like; Billy Merrell