I Would Fight A Minotaur For Love

It is so good to be back!

My parents decided to just not pay our Comcast bill for the last…like two months.

Fortunately, I continued to write my entries like normal, so I have two months’ worth of writing for you in a Word document which I shall gradually unleash upon you in as short a span of time as possible, so be expecting a few entries a day until I’m all caught up.

10/13/18

I got to see L’Owen the other day; I was so excited.  Last Thursday I didn’t have class, so I went to see The Mormon at work (he works at the school), but I met him in his classroom once it was over, and the particular class was taught by L’Owen.

(Oddly, on the way in, I ran into Gary, and I said, “This is weird…neither one of us goes to this school anymore, and yet here we both are.”)

So I walked in and took Dean’s hand, which L’Owen immediately leapt upon.  “OHH, that’s so CUTE!” he said.  And then Dean started blushing, and L’Owen said, “Look at his face; he’s blushing!  His face is the color of his shirt!”

It happened to be the t-shirt I had bought The Mormon for his birthday, and I said so.

We talked to L’Owen for a while, and then, a few minutes later, apparently unable to fully wrap his mind around it, the gleam suddenly came back into his eyes and he grinned at us and said, “You two…that’s just so CUTE, I can’t get over it!”

The Mormon said, “I’m going to hear about this on Tuesday now.”

Sure enough, when he got to class on Tuesday, L’Owen said, the twinkle in his eye, “Dean, that was a great trick you pulled the other day, having Ginny come in and pretend to be your girlfriend.  That was just great.  All that handholding, and saying she bought your shirt, I mean…I’ve gotta commend you, man.”

The Mormon is like, “What?” completely confused, until L’Owen says, “I’m just messing with you.”  That is pretty damned funny.  I miss L’Owen.

Another story–this one from…I can’t remember what day this was.  Monday, perhaps.  I was about to go into work, and I called The Mormon, who did not answer.  A minute or so later, he called me, and I answered, and then I heard a muffled sound that was rather like his voice, and then silence.

Of course, being me, I immediately pictured him bound and gagged somewhere, and somehow he had managed to reach his phone and call me, and then he could not of course speak.  I was instantly in rescue mode.  OMB, somebody’s kidnapped my boyfriend! I thought.  I must call into work right now!

I said, “What’s going on?” very tentatively, and there was more silence, but only briefly, and then he said, “Oh, I’m eating lunch, sorry.”

“Oh,” I said, deflated.  I think I was actually a bit disappointed, because for one thing, that was so much less exciting, and for another, it meant I still had to go into work.

“But I was ready,” I told Michelle and Sandra later, “to go to his rescue.  I didn’t know where I’d have to go or what I’d have to fight, but I was prepared to do it.”

And then I told him the story later and assured him that, if necessary, I would fight a minotaur for him.  He said that was sexy and that he loved me.

Speaking of fighting a minotaur for love, I was sitting in class the other day, unable to concentrate (this has been happening a lot lately) and my mind was wandering to numerous other things.  I’ve known for a while that I am going to spend the rest of my life with The Mormon.  I told him, in fact, (and I may have written this in here before, but I can’t remember) that it’s just like when you ask those older couples who have been married forever how they knew they were supposed to be with the person they chose to marry, and they can’t explain it–they just knew.  And I feel that way now.  I just know.  There is no other explanation than that.  I never quite believed it when I heard things like that as a child, but…it’s true.  Sometimes you just know.

But what occurred to me the other day is the answer to that–why I “just know.”  The reason is simple:  It is a conscious decision on my part.  I have made the conscious decision to commit to him for life, no matter what.  And because I have chosen this, I am able to “just know.”

The thing is, I felt that way about Milo, as well.  Yes, I still love him; I’ve said that before.  I believe that love never dies.  But with every experience comes new knowledge, and being in love again, now, with Dean, I know that it is all a matter of choice and commitment.  I chose him over Milo.  I chose that I would commit to him for life.  If I had been with Milo–if he had changed his mind before I’d fallen in love again–I would have committed to him as well, and then I would have “just known” with Milo.  Yes, you can fall in love multiple times.  You can be in a totally fulfilling relationship and still be tempted.  The difference is in the commitment, in being faithful, and in not caving to temptation.  There will always be temptations.  Every now and then, I do find myself wondering, Well, what if I’d done that differently?  What if I’d been with that guy instead? But the point is that I love Dean, and I want to be with him for the rest of our lives, and that I would never do anything to screw that up, and I trust him to do the same.  Moreover, the key to being happy, I told him, is to keep the other person happy.  If I endeavor to always make him happy, he will continue to want to make me happy.  It’s all about faithfulness.

Every once in a while, I really surprise myself by realizing that I actually have learned something from an experience.  Maybe reality is different for some other people, but all that I have just stated is truth for me.

During the same class, it occurred to me that one of the main reasons I want to move to England is so that I can do something different.  I would be moving to a foreign country–across an ocean.  Every day I would wake up and realize that I was in a totally different country than where I grew up.  I think that would be enough excitement to last a long time.  It would be an adventure–and at the same time, the culture over there is not so different that I would have to change a lot about my lifestyle.  I wouldn’t have to become fluent in a new language to live there.  It would be just different enough.  (Also, traveling, which I would really like to do, would be a lot easier over there than over here.)  But on that “different” tack–no one else in my family has done or is doing this.  It would make me The One Who Moved to England.  That would always be in my family’s minds.  I’m the one who moved to England.  I realized that if Psychobrat were also to move to England, half the appeal would immediately be gone, because I would no longer be different.  I would just be doing the same thing Psychobrat did.  And then I recalled that, my entire life, I always wanted to be known as doing different things than Psychobrat.  That’s why I didn’t want Psychobrat to join drama–she could be known as the soccer star, but I didn’t want her taking away the thing that I had made mine.  She’s everyone’s favorite, so nothing I do matters to them and I basically have no identity in my family’s minds.  I’m only known to them by comparison to their image of her.  Does that make any sense?

The bottom line, I realized, is just that I want to do something different.  I honestly don’t care if I am ever rich or famous.  I just want to be happy.  And I think because I have Dean I always will be.  And moving to England, I believe, would excite the senses enough for quite a while.

Advertisements

Being Selfish

I am so losing my drive.

I was doing so well with my homework, every single night, I’d come home, do it, and go to sleep.  That’s how every day went—wake up, get ready to go, go to class, go to work, do my homework, go to bed, start over.  I’m still doing that, but I screw around with my homework more and more now.  I keep thinking, Oh, I can just do that tomorrow, and then do.

Last week I couldn’t even concentrate in class.  I just sat through all my classes, for all those hours and fifteen minutes, staring off into space, thinking about goodness knows what.

Tomorrow I have to know what I’m going to be writing my five-page essay on for my Makings of Memory class.  I’ve had a week to figure this out.  I still have no clue.

I’d been kind of working on a rewards system—I kill myself every day of every week and then the weekend comes and everything is wonderful for two days, and now I just found out that I will only have one weekend with The Mormon for this entire month.  (And let me reiterate–weekends are the only times that I see him at all.)  So now I’m doing all of this work and there is nothing at all to get me through it or console me.  Just the promise of a weekend where I’m stuck at home with my angry father and with nothing to do.  I am so depressed.  Why does being so busy make me depressed?  It’s always like this.  Nobody else gets like this.  Other people are just like, yeah, I’m busy, whatever, life goes on.  It doesn’t work that way for me.

I’m being so selfish.  I’m always so selfish.  Why am I so selfish?  Fuck.

It’s all in the mind.

WTF?  So I’m sitting here waiting on the laundry as I do every Saturday night because it’s the only night I can do laundry without pissing off Psychobrat (for now, at least).  But my parents also do laundry on Saturday for the same reason, and it’s usually in there all damn day.  So just now I said, in a perfectly calm and rational voice because I was not pissed off, “Dad?  Did you get your clothes out of the dryer?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but you could have found a nicer way to ask.”

“What?” I said.

“I just don’t like how you asked the question.”

“What other way is there to ask the question?”

“I don’t know, I just figured from a journalist, you could have found a better way.”

…???  What did I do wrong here!?  I don’t understand!  And why is it suddenly about attacking my chosen profession?  Somehow things always end up attacking my chosen profession when it comes to conversations with him…that’s why I’ve changed my mind about half a million things I wanted to be in the past.  Fuck, it isn’t like I’m not self-conscious enough about it.

I start back to work tomorrow, and school the day after that–full-time for the first time since December.  I’m a bit anxious.  No–I’m very anxious.  And the only reason for that is because when I lack free time, it gets me really worked up inside.

I’m not going to see The Mormon for two weeks if he can’t get out of his class on Friday.  That doesn’t really sound like a lot, but I just didn’t want to let go of him when I left his house tonight.  I almost felt on the verge of tears.  I’m PMSing.  It makes me overly-emotional.

I’ve been reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  I don’t honestly like it very much.  In fact, there have been several occasions when I have nearly thrown it across the room in frustration and given up on it.  But now I only have about 54 pages to go and there’s no way I can quit it now.  I actually found this quote in it that I like.  From the 1974 Bantam paperback edition:

p. 220:  You go up the mountaintop and all you’re gonna get is a great big heavy stone tablet handed to you with a bunch of rules on it.

I thought it was funny.  But here’s something interesting–while checking the publisher on the spine, I noticed the word, “non-fiction”.  This whole time, I didn’t realize this book was non-fiction.  Suddenly I have way more respect for it.  Seriously.  Now that it’s almost over.

Actually, it taught me something.  I was reading in it about the philosophies of David Hume vs. Immanuel Kant, and it totally reminded me of in Yellow Submarine, when George keeps saying, “It’s all in the mind.”  Suddenly I realized that that was what it was referencing, was Hume.  That line never fully made sense to me before; I always knew there was something deeper behind it, but I didn’t quite get it.  But the next day I watched the movie again, and when George said the line, I really got it.  In fact, this time it was laugh-out-loud funny.

See, George is driving Ringo’s car back and forth in front of him, and Ringo is trying to prove that it is his car with a description, and he says he knows it is his car because it is red with yellow wheels.  The horn honks, and suddenly it is blue with red wheels, and George says, “It’s all in the mind.”  And it was really funny this time.

To further that topic, this morning my parents were looking at photos on the computer and arguing about red-eye, and finally Mom said, “I’m not seeing the same thing you’re seeing”, meaning, from the conversation following that, that it looked different to her because it was an old computer screen and he was standing up tall and she was sitting directly in front of it, so the picture looked blurred to him.  I said, “It’s all in the mind,” and thought it was profoundly clever; I don’t think they heard me, but I managed to amuse myself.

In other news, the other day I actually experienced sleep paralysis.  When I woke up at first, it was really sudden, and I found that I couldn’t move.  At first I thought it was just that being too tired to move thing, but then I realized that I literally could not move.  And then I noticed that my chest felt heavy, like there was pressure on it, and I was having trouble breathing.  But I knew exactly what was happening, because I’ve read so much about this before, since I already experience hypnagogic hallucinations from time to time.  I warily opened my eyes to see if there was a hag sitting on my chest, but nothing.  And suddenly I was aware of how frightening that sensation must be, just because you couldn’t move.  I think the reason I didn’t hallucinate was because I knew what was going on.  So I kind of just laid there calmly and let it wear off and didn’t worry about it.  Then, when I could move, I freaked out and started kicking my sheets around.

I went to my 9:00 a.m. meeting at work yesterday in pajamas to make a statement.  “This is what I think about 9 a.m. meetings,” I intended to say.  I don’t know if they got it.

Dann told me Sandra isn’t coming back.  I am so going to miss Sandra; she was such fun to tell stories to.

This is a super-long entry, so I’m going to end it here.

Identity Theft, a Cute Mormon Baby Story, and the Roanoke Poison-Dart Frogs Colony

Psychobrat set up a Victoria’s Secret credit card…in my name.

See, my parents waited until she was born to get my social security number, so they’re only two digits apart.  My mom, for some reason, has always found this funny and ironic and tells people about it.  But I always tell her, “Don’t say that in front of her; I don’t want her to know my number!”

“Oh, she’s your sister,” my mom always says.  “She isn’t going to do anything.”

So why the fuck is there a Victoria’s Secret credit card in my name!?

Psychobrat’s story is that she accidentally applied for the card.  She didn’t mean to fill out the credit card application.  Um…right.  And then, even though she filled out all of her information, it just mysteriously came up in my name.

When I become an independent, I have to change my social security number.  There’s no way I can go through life with her having it.

When I was out with The Mormon’s family the other day, his aunt was saying how when he was small enough to wear diapers, he used to play in her flowerbed and pretend it was a sandbox.  I grinned over at him and said, “Really?

He already had his face in his hand and said, “This is going to come up in the blog or a conversation with Katie, isn’t it?”  Mwahahaha.  I love when they tell me cute baby stories; he’s so cute the way he reacts to them!

Milo told me an interesting story yesterday.  We got smoothies, went to UNF to find my classes, and then to the museum where he works, then later to his apartment because I still hadn’t seen it.

At the museum, we were looking at those little walled-in aquariums where reptiles usually stay, and he showed me an empty one that apparently used to have poison-dart tree frogs in it.

“They weren’t poisonous, because we weren’t feeding them what makes them poisonous.”

“What makes them poisonous?”

“Ants.  We were feeding them crickets.”

“Where are they now?”

He looked straight into my eyes.  “Nobody knows,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“One morning when we came in, they were just gone.  And there’s no hole where they could have escaped; it’s really weird!  There were two little brown ones left, kind of hiding in a corner, but all the really bright colorful ones…just gone.”

Weird!” I said.  “It’s like the Roanoke colony!”  I was tempted to scrawl the word “CROATOA” above the tank.

Apparently this happened about two months ago, about a dozen disappeared, and no dead frogs have shown up in the museum.  I didn’t consider this possibility, but when I told my mom the story, she said, “It sounds like they were stolen.”

I guess that is the most logical scenario.

But my imagination had to make it more interesting by creating this psycho killer who breeds poison-dart tree frogs to attack people with.  That’s who stole them.  …If they were stolen.

Psychobrat Gripes and Mormon Jubilation

It has been a very Psychobrat sort of day.

Psychobrat and Spidermonkey have broken up, which means that she will be spending all of her free time at home, whereas until recently she had practically been living at his house.  (This meant that the rare times she was home, she was actually almost pleasant.)  But no more of that.  Psychobrat is back full-force!

My Padawan sent me a new section of her story last night, which I was quite eager to read and comment on, and promised her I would do so after work and my workout today, so right about 3.  This, apparently, was not to be.

I came home at 2:15 with the intention of chilling at the computer for a few minutes just to decompress so I could do my workout.  The sun, you see, does not do good things for me, and I had been standing in it for four hours, so I had a headache and wanted to zone out in the coolest room of the house (my room is hot).  This, from experience, makes my heat headaches go away.  But even this was not to be.

Psychobrat was on the computer, and I asked her if I could have it for a few minutes so I could relax before working out.  She adamantly refused.  I told her that I had promised someone I would be on it at 3, and this pissed her off.

“YOU CAN’T PROMISE SOMEONE YOU’RE GOING TO USE THE COMPUTER AT 3!  IT ISN’T YOUR COMPUTER!  IT’S EVERYONE’S!  AND I’M USING IT!”

I told her (still calmly at this point) that I would only need it for half an hour to an hour, and then she could use it for the rest of the day.

But she was downloading something that was going to take a while and didn’t want to disrupt it.

Fair enough.  I said all she had to do was switch users and her programs would keep running.

She told me I was a selfish bitch.  (You have to imagine her voice as being very prissy and screechy, because that is how it sounds, unless she’s really pissed, and then she sounds like the girl from The Exorcist.)

Now here is a perfect example of her (and my father’s, because she gets it from him) circular non-logic, and the reason it is impossible to argue with either one of them.  She told me it was her turn to use the computer, because she is never home and therefore never gets to use it.  I told her that I had promised to be on the computer around 3.  She said I couldn’t promise such things, because she was using it at 3.  I said when I had made this promise, I hadn’t expected her to be home, because she never was home in the afternoons.  To which she replied, “Well, I’m going to be home all the time now, because Brent and I broke up.”

…?  Do you see the contradiction here?  This is only one example.  Every argument with either her or my father goes exactly the same way.  I remember another prime example from a few weeks ago, when my dad was waking me up every morning at 7 by yelling at my little brother.  This particular morning, he was yelling, “I WANT YOU TO GO TO JAIL, SO YOU CAN LEARN A LESSON!”  A few minutes later, when it suited his needs for him to reply to something Brother had said a different way, he said, “I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO TO JAIL!”

Even though I was very not awake, I was still able to pick up on the contradiction, and even chuckled to myself a bit when Brother said, “You just said you wanted me to go to jail,” and Dad replied, “I DID NOT!”

Do you see why this is so frustrating?  Why it is not possible to ever win an argument or defend yourself to either one of them?  They contradict themselves and disregard logic at all.  This is why I’ve questioned so often whether or not I am going insane, and why I bottle up my emotions until I explode, and why I so often just try to hide in my room when either of their tempers flare up.  Can any one of you honestly tell me that you could argue with these people and not eventually decide just not to open your mouth ever?  That’s what it’s like living at my house.  What’s worse is that she hates me, and everybody else here, and he favors her, so they both constantly jump down my throat and I get it even worse than anyone sometimes.  But it’s okay, because I can put up with it for a few more years, and then I am moving out.  I will live with The Mormon, and things will be so much better.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family very much; I just need to live apart from them.

But where was I?  I got off on a tangent.  Psychobrat.  Right.  So I gave up on getting on the computer at any point anywhere near 3, and did my workout not on my own strength, but on anger.  And because I never decompressed, my headache is still lingering.

Then I went and took a shower and went to my room, because she was still on the computer.  But by this point I had decided just not to get on until about 9, when I would go ahead and respond to my Padawan, a bit later than promised.  This would give her the rest of the day to use it as long as she wanted, and when I finally got on, my time would be uninterrupted and she couldn’t argue with me.

I sat down at 9:35, and she walked in the door at 9:45, after having been out who knows where.  She approached me and simpered, “Can I have the computer for five minutes?”

I looked at her.  “You must be joking,” I said.

“No, I just want it for a few minutes to check all my stuff.”

“Well, you can have it for a few minutes tomorrow.  It’s my turn now.”

“It isn’t your turn.  There are no turns.  You don’t own this computer.”

“Well, that’s too bad for you, because I’m not getting off.”

“YES, you ARE!  I WANT IT!”  (Imagine the Exorcist voice now.)

“And now you know how it feels.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NOW I KNOW HOW IT FEELS!?”  (At this point, the computer restarted, and continued restarting every time I logged on for the rest of this conversation.  I suspected that Psychobrat was channeling Carrie.)

“This doesn’t sound familiar to you from…oh, about 6 hours ago?”

“I WAS DOWNLOADING SOMETHING!”

“You could have switched users for a few minutes.  It wouldn’t have hurt anything.”

“THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

“I agree; it isn’t fair.”

“GET OFF; I WANT IT!”

“Sorry.”

“THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

“As I already stated, I agree with you.  It certainly isn’t fair.”

“I HAVE TO CHECK MY STUFF!”

“Well, you can check it tomorrow when I’m at work for 11 hours.”

“I HAVE TO CHECK IT NOW!”

Finally I got so sick of it restarting and being called selfish over and over again (and as I’ve explained, there simply is no way to defend yourself), I just got off.  It was about 9:50.  Psychobrat immediately took over and used it until 11.  That, apparently, is 5 minutes to her.

The 47-Year-Old came over today.  This is the nickname of the guy who is actually 25 and whom Psychobrat met at my brother’s day care one summer when she was 14 and he was 21, and where she had been sent as punishment for the summer before, when she was fucking The Jackass from down the street every day.  She was cleaning her room last night since he was coming over.  This involved washing her sheets.  I’m not sure I want to speculate upon that one.

I actually feel bad talking about Psychobrat like this.  But it’s helped my anger completely go away.  Now that I’ve written all these horrible things about her, all I feel is guilt.  The anger is gone.  But my conscience is very strong.

I’m going to change the subject.  Want to hear something sweet for a change?  I don’t deserve this, because I’m really a pretty horrible person, as evidenced by all of the above…but I am thankful for it.  I think The Mormon is one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and I will never stop being grateful for that.

Have you ever had a class with some guy (or girl) that you thought was really hot, and maybe you didn’t know them at all really, but when the semester ended, you were sort of sad that you wouldn’t see them anymore?  The Mormon told me today that I was this person to him, back when we were in that sociology class together.  He thought I was incredibly hot (“not to be superficial,” he said) and even mentioned me to his friends, although we’d only spoken once or twice and didn’t even know each other’s names.  And I thought nothing of it at all.  It never occurred to me at this time to be attracted to him.

He told me that when he saw me on the first day in our creative writing class, he was ecstatic, and started trying to figure out a way to tell me he was interested, but because he was shy, said nothing for almost the entire class.  And all the way through, he realized that he liked me more and more.  (And I was completely unaware of this for about three months.  He’s experiencing all this inner turmoil, and I’m just blissfully ignorant.)

Anyway, I was all, “I was that girl.  That rocks!”

And…I’m just so happy to have him and that he loves me so very much.

General Blahness Whilst Waiting on the Laundry

I saw my old friend Wendy from Watson today.  Her husband is out of town at a friend’s house, and as he was away and I was there, there were quite a few downhearted expressions of regret that things aren’t the way they used to be.  They have been married…I think six years now?…and they don’t talk anymore.  He doesn’t laugh at her jokes like he used to (in fact, he glares at her like she’s insulting him), and she feels constantly alone even when he’s there next to her.  He even asked her if she still saw herself with him a year from now, and she feels miserable.

Isn’t there any way that I can keep The Mormon from one day hating me?  Isn’t this possible?  Nobody stays happy, right?  I mean, once that initial honeymoon stage is over, that’s like it, isn’t it?  There are occasions (and they are few and far between) that I suspect my parents are secretly happy with each other, but like I said, they’re very few and far between.  For years I’ve watched them and thought, They aren’t happy.  I could go into more detail about this, such as the specifics of what I’ve heard them both bitch about for practically my entire life (my mom secretly to me, and my dad loudly in any part of the house, because he seems to feel all of their issues should be the issues of the entire family).  I won’t, though.  But it isn’t pleasant.

All I want is to make him happy forever.  Because when I make him happy, it in turn makes me happy and makes him want to make me happy.  Why doesn’t this work?  Why don’t people stay happy with each other?  Why isn’t this possible?  I don’t want to gradually turn into some psycho bitch who’s going to be a burden to him.  I don’t want to be sitting in the same room as him and have him not even care that I’m speaking to him, or to not bother because I don’t want to see him not care.

This is secretly one of the main reasons I don’t want to get married for such a long time.  I want to prolong happiness as long as possible.  I feel like marriage = the end of happiness.  Is this wrong?  Am I somehow just incredibly cynical about this, or am I right?  Because that’s really how I see it.  I can’t tell if it’s skewed or not.

A Wake-Up Shout, a Clone, and a Mad Hitman

I went to bed early in order to get a good eight hours of sleep and get up by 9, but was unfortunately awoken two hours earlier at 7:15 by the sounds of my extremely homophobic father shouting at Brother about what going to jail really means.

“THERE ARE A LOT OF MEN IN THERE WHO HAVE BEEN SEPARATED FROM THEIR GIRLFRIENDS FOR A LONG TIME!  DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!?  TELL ME WHAT THAT MEANS!”

I am not hearing this, I thought, attempting to go back to sleep, but this, unfortunately, was not possible until about two hours later, so I ended up sleeping until about 11 anyway.

I had two dreams last night–well, this morning, really.  In the first, Cortney went home to Illinois to visit family for a bit, then came back and told me there was this guy there I just had to meet.  So I took her word for it, and she and Nicole and I went up to Illinois for about a week.

While there, we took a trip to Sam’s Club, or something similar to it, where there was this guy working whom Cortney had met and spoken to for a while.  He looked and talked exactly like The Mormon, and even had the same name.  That was why Cortney had wanted me to see him.

When she introduced me to him, he said, “This’ll sound really strange, but you look exactly like my girlfriend.”  How weird is that?  So we followed him around, and I kept trying to hold hands with him and stuff, and finally I just thought, Why don’t I?  This guy is The Mormon.

Then we were writing all the stuff we were going to purchase up on this chalkboard, because their cash registers were broken or something, and I woke up (to Dad’s yelling) trying to rub chalk off of my hands.

The next dream was after I went back to sleep; I dreamed that Michelle, Adrianna, Turtle, Peck, and I were all hitmen for…somebody.  I don’t know who.  And Turtle was also crazy–he deliberately killed the wrong guy, laughing all the while.  For some reason, that whole Christian group that we had over the summer was in the cafe again, and Turtle killed one of them.  So then whoever we worked for sent me after Turtle, but Turtle knew this and kept trying to shoot me.  (This took place in the parking garage at UNF.)  And he kept laughing maniacally–it was really freaky!

When I saw Turtle tonight, I said, “I had this dream you were trying to shoot me and kept laughing creepily.”

He said, “Is that why you looked at me funny at first?”

“That’s why,” I said.

Something else of interest, completely unrelated to dreams–remember how I was griping about the old van in the previous entry? So this guy came to the door just today offering to break it down so he could have the parts. He even had the wrecker right there. My dad wants to get pictures of us all in front of it first, since we’ve had it since the year I was born (he gets weirdly sentimentally attached to objects), but after that we’re going to call the guy and get rid of it. Cool how that works out, huh?

And that’s pretty much it on news/stories for today.