More dreams Scribbled down on Tuesday, 20 September 2005 10:32:16 AM
Dearest diary, Everyday it's a whole effort to gain energy to write. I am never in the mood for writing but I have to. Even if it is to repeat myself for the hundredth of time. I keep having very long and odd dreams, none of them are nice. There was one where I was at a family's house and I think they knew something was wrong with me. They told me to talk to a dog and a little girl who went and sat especially in her tiny chair glaring at me. I had no idea what to say. Later I was lying down where another teenage girl who appeared to be a bit dumb was asking tons of irrelevant questions. I don't remember but I did ask something about Sylvia Plath to the woman (the mother) as my voice sounded nothing but my own. I don't know what she told me. She seemed Christian. I was with a boy of my age, we were sitting really close and I knew he did like me in some way, only he wouldn't open his mouth for not even a second. He just sat like a statue with his glasses on whilst I told him he wrote the nicest cards and they were the most valuable to me. It's a lie actually but I just wanted to stroke his ego. After awhile as I was making fun of a girl who appeared with bloody thighs infront of me (it was actually me), he disappeared like it was too much for him to handle. Another dream was where my younger brother was murdering people like a hobby. The scenes were nothing nice even I just stood there, watching and glared, hoping I wouldn't be one of his victims. He did come home from his work yesterday, insulting me as you'd expect. I just went up to my bedroom... and there I wrote a few poems for L. (of course in Dutch, English will never be my strongest point). If he ever read them, he'd understand their meanings. One of them could be taken in two ways. Both offensive, I think. Yesterday he smacked me like out of ignorance. Or out of fear for something. I felt myself reaching a spot far away from him on my bum that got so sore. It's simple and easy: I feel rejected. He is sceptical and wants to know what inside his drink first before he decide to drink it. He accepted the drink (me) but didn't want me at his lips yet. Getting my point? The voice in my head saw how I would fall asleep, waking up the next day wishing I had written. So with great effort I picked my pen and book from the ground and started writing the thoughts that were swimming in circles in my head for being unable to have a different home. As soon as I had them written, I could rest and fell in a deep dream. I may visit him still over a few weeks... or get myself lost in an unknown place. I had to take lots of money with me, just in case. We shall see, nothing but a nice movie. Like you do at sleepovers with relatives.

«« death taking place -- prisoned by life »»