A Dream From Hell

       I had the weirdest dream a few hours ago. A wolf-like creature was circling my family and me on the road. Its eyes were red, and its teeth shone with fresh blood. Its spine poked out of its back.
      My mother got out of the car. I grabbed a flashlight; it was insanely bright and had a flashing mode. I shone it at the creature, blinding and scaring it. It ran away, leaving my family to chastise my mother. And then I woke up.
      This is actually a good dream, because any other night, it would have torn the flesh off her bones.

I Need To Talk About Death

       So I got talking with this guy, and over the past few months I learned he lost someone. He said she's in a better place. The topic turned to suicide and I said I happen to think of it on occasion (well, almost every day and night, but I'm trying this whole new positivity thing) and he told me not to. So now, my dear nonexistent readers, I'm truly confused. Why is it okay for someone he loves to be in a better place, but not a stranger? Hell, if someone thinks of me as a friend, why would they ask me to extend my suffering as a favor to them? And then, plot twist, celebrate me getting older. Even laughing at those "Under the hill" cards.

      I mean, instead of freaking out about my suicide talk, what I really want is for someone to give me some clarity. Just clarity, that's all I want in life. Death is not a horrifying, repulsive subject like having a crush on your dad, okay? It's a natural freaking part of life! Don't people get that?

      Told me not to, like I can just wish it all away on a dandelion fluff. "Don't do it," the most convincing argument I've ever heard. Why is it okay for her suffering to end, but not mine? I'm a good person. I never retaliated when someone hurt me, I never tattled on that kid who tried to trip me in class, never got detention, never got grounded. Why shouldn't I be able to take away the pain when medication and therapy have failed?

      Is death gruesome? Yes... But let's be real. I have multiple organ failure. I'd much rather go out on my own terms. And I'd want the people who say they love me to prove it and accept that, instead of asking me to endure everything on their behalf. I am tired of having a charity existence! It is cruel to ask someone to keep living! It is the most hateful thing you can say to someone! I am so tired of being asked to suffer for as long as I can "because I love you." Just stop with that! Freaking stop with the manipulations.

      Our feelings are more transient than we are, and we are so inconsequential. Everybody dies and life goes on. We get over it, so get over it. I'm suicidal, take it or leave it. It's a quirk, like the weirdoes who like getting up early or going shoe-shopping, or who think getting pregnant on a planet with over 150 million orphans, is a "blessing."

      Clarity. Clarity on all the hypocrisy―please!

Upon Reflection...

       Man, I love my new TV! It's like, how did I have a heavy, giant TV for so long? Especially since the TV was so much bigger than the screen itself, so it took up a lot of space and the characters were still small. Kind of pathetic, really... Really, I can't believe I haven't had this one all my life.
      And, I hate to admit it, but I also really like short hair. I never thought I would say it, never thought I would want it. Believe it or not, my dear nonexistent readers, my long (knee-) length hair was the only reason anyone would acknowledge me...at least in a positive way. They either hold the door for me, which is only a common courtesy, or they give me the death stare like they want to take my life right there in the lineup. But when it was long, they would fawn over it and I felt special.

      But, it never helped me make friends, so I figured, what the hell? I was only comfortable when it was braided or I clipped it up in a claw, which kept breaking under the weight of my hair. Stupid cheap things. So, snip-snip, now it's shoulder-ish length and yeah, I love it. Actually I'm thinking about getting another cut, because since December last year, it's actually grown a lot...and I'm starting to shed like mad again. I try to comb it just a little, pull out a fistful. Turns out, nope, that is not for me... It's kind of stressful.

      How did I go all those years pulling hair out of my head? And pulling it out of my pants? I love long hair but it is so not worth it!

      I'm actually thinking maybe a little longer than chin-length, so pigtails or a ponytail would be kind of cute. Maybe not with my mug, but I remember it used to make me feel like a perky waitress. I kind of liked that, too, feeling perky.