It was a beautiful dream

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Let me preface this by saying I am not yet who I want to be, nor do I ever think I will be. But that's not something to become depressed about; in fact it's sort of hopeful if you think about it, because there is always going to be something to improve upon. If I had nothing left to improve upon I can't imagine how bored I would be. So I will continue to morph into new versions of myself until I cease to be.


It's weird to think how much you like home when you're not there. Lately though, I've been in this place where I'm not sure if home really exists anymore... I'm just a floater these days. But I know it did exist, and that's a comfort in itself. Maybe sometime I'll find that again. I want to tell you that I've been having good days lately - all in a row. When this happens I become a recluse and watch the most bitterly depressing movie I own to remind myself that this isn't permanent. But then, neither is sadness. The thing about sadness and happiness is that both are so fleeting, and it is the aftermath of these feelings that seem to last so long.


I visited this friend a while ago who is now estranged to me, but she took me through her town and beyond it a ways. We went past this body of water that was this magnificent blue - green color. Only it was the color green that doesn't sketch you out, instead it makes you wish you were more of an outdoors person. Across from the water next to the road was this wall of rock that seemed to have been eroded from the surrounding landscape somehow. She went on to tell me that there were pretty devastating floods there a couple years ago. She said they caused an accident on the highway and a whole family died. "It was really sad" she said somberly as if she'd lost someone to the floods that year. When we returned to the house that her grandfather had built long before we existed, we saw a brief movement in the darkness of that night. She told me it must have been a barn cat. The Sunday morning paper the next day told us that the shadow we saw the night before was the guy that snapped one day and killed his whole family. Apparently he had been hiding out in the little abandoned shed just past the pond in the back yard. He headed for the woods and no one had heard from him since. It made me wonder how often in life I'd ever been around a murderer or serial killer-to-be. 


On the topic of death - it used to scare me endlessly. However lately, every single way of dying just seems so romantic and enticing. More and more I am intrigued by death and less afraid. That's not to say I want to die, but I do think it will be quite the adventure. When driving through Pennsylvania last year, we were on this bridge, and below us was the most uncharacteristically blue water this far north I'd ever seen. I was listening to a very happy song with my headphones pressed far into my ears, and I pictured us flipping off the guardrail into the water down below. It made me excited to think about. This other song, this just... perfect song, was playing later and I thought about putting it on repeat, pressing the headphones into my ears and swallowing a handful of pain meds while lying on my queen-sized bed that feels like a cloud. I liked the idea of it. I must say that I am skeptical about the world ending in 2012. I don't think it will, but imagining that it does is really nice in a lot of ways. It would be extremely exciting, (also terrifying), but I have decided that I will be on a lot of drugs, since we all know this is the end. People will scramble around screaming and avoiding facing their own death at every expense, but I only hope to be on ecstasy with my friends - my true family. I won't die alone, since the whole world is dying at once. Then I will stare my own death in the face, and welcome it with open arms. I am only 18, and all I can say on the matter is I hope to keep this view of death. It makes living well worth it.


The recent lack of winter here has me wondering what all of the animals do that usually migrate south. My mother said the other morning she heard birds chirping and the crackling of twigs led her to believe that they were building nests as if they weren’t leaving this year.


 


My mind has been keeping itself busy as of late by creating situations that I wish would happen. These situations make me happy to think about… like a dream you had when everything was perfect and for that brief moment you wake up still thinking it’s real in a dreamy haze. The thing is: psychology tells us that our mind makes up memories to fill in empty spaces where there are none. So what if these false happenings become imprinted into my mind, and when I’m old and grey I think fantasy is reality? I was really afraid of that until right now, but that’s kind of comforting to think of too. Like, your mind does this to cushion the blow that your dreams of even the littlest things never actually happened, but in your fantasy, everything was so real and tangible. I think I’m okay with it. 


It's 10:43pm.

Created: Feb 23, 2012

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