Dream Entry.

I'm writing to wait for my legs to stop being so restless. I didn't want another repeat of last night happening. Didn't get to sleep until 6 am. It's 4 am now, so I guess it's a semi-repeat. This is a dream I had recently:

I visited Steve Jay's (one of my mom's former boyfriends who was extremely abusive.) old house on Garland. I walked up and there was an old man on a lawn chair in the yard next door. He looked at me, confused. So I said, "I used to live here, remember?" He said he didn't and hadn't lived there for very long. I drew the conclusion that the other old couple who lived there while I did,. must have died. Next thing I know, I am at the front door. A young couple answers. I know they are a man and woman, but I can only remember seeing the woman. Next, I'm in the big bedroom. The woman is across from me, folding laundry. I gasped at something and started getting upset. The woman looked concerned, and said, "You've got horrible memories here, don't you?" The house wasn't nearly as dark as I remember it to be. It looked bright with sun shining in all the windows.

Back pain.

My back is hurting, so I scheduled an appointment for an x-ray. I'll bet they'll get the x-ray back and nothing will look wrong and they'll continue to think I'm a big faker. But I'm not! I posted on the Evan's Message board about it and got three responses from other kids who have complained of similar back pain.

Mystery Rash.

God damn, this rash is driving me nuts! Itchy, Itchy Itchy!!

Randomly Found Handwritten Mall Ponderings

(From when I had a job.)

The mall is such a place where you can sit and view all sorts of different people who reside in your town. There are the old people and old couples who probably live in dimly lit houses with faded yellow or beige drapes with cozy couches and one very old TV set. They are always sweet. The women generally pulling the men, the men are always willing to stop and talk.

There's the South Hill or Indian Trail mom's hustling around, their hands full of shopping bags, seeking directions to the Bon or the Gap, never bothering to say, "Thank you." to my friendly response.

There are the mom's fed up with their three whining children who she had way too young. She'll give into their pleas of candy just to shut them up for five precious moments of silence.

A never-ending cycle.

The hipsters, the white trash.. But most of all, there are the kids. They are the worst.

The girls whose pants are so low you can almost peak at their underdeveloped 12 year old 'parts', which are barely covered by a skimpy thong, and jeans.

The fat girls with their fat stomachs pushing out under their too small jeans and too short halter tops. And they all pile the makeup on by the gallon. There's the wannabe gangsters, talking about all the 'bitches' they're going to get.

Then there's me, whose mall employment gives me all the opportunities I desire to silently judge.