whiski_sour | *groans*

Hullo, Bob. I'd appreciate it if you'd be on time. When you're late, it makes my body hurt from the waist down and that's not conducive to me getting things done.

I slept in until noon (haven't done that for awhile) but I don't feel rested. Every dream I had involved Jason Voorhees chasing me and other people around. At one point, instead of having a machete, he was carrying a tazer. They weren't exactly nightmares. I wasn't scared by any of them. Just fought and ran the whole time. And, it was literally one dream right after another. I'd have one about him, wake up, roll over, go back to sleep, and he'd be back again. By the end of it all I was like, "Don't you have a home to go to? Lemme alone, fucktard."

I made a huge mess on the kitchen floor earlier. I came home from buying to cans of pop and as I was tossing my sunglasses on the computer desk, one of them slipped from my hand, hit the corner of the chair, and exploded all over the place. So as I'm attempting to mop up the mess, Dad comes in from outside and just looks at me. I got all defensive. "What? We were gonna have to mop this floor sooner or later. Today just felt right. I wanted to make it worth my while."

I spent an hour and a half going through all the notebooks in one of my junk drawers. I have literally a dozen notebooks filled with stories and story ideas and fanfic and other evidence of a very disturbed childhood. Found a bunch of poetry I'd forgotten about as well. The whole time I'm looking through this stuff I'm thinking, "Man, there's a lot of stuff I need to burn before I die." I don't want anyone accidently stumbling across this stuff and finding out exactly how deep my insanity runs or just how much of my head was consumed by fantasy. It's bad enough they know as much as they do now.

*sighs* I should probably go attempt to do the rest of the stuff I should do today.

Make hay while the sun shines, ya know.