Saturday

I just finished writing the first act of my treatment. That was like pulling teeth. When did writing get so hard? Talk about a fucking rut. Anyway, last night I had a dream about a guy eating a couple of centipedes. And he crunched on them like they were potato chips, then looked at me and said, "oh, I forgot, not everybody likes this as much as I do." How weird is that? I also dreamed that my glasses fell apart in my hands. Anyway, so I plug them into a dream interpretation things, and they all say things about negative thoughts and so forth. Gee, what a surprise. I guess my brain is trying to give me advice, which I actually need. Or at least some sort of kick in the ass to help me get out of this ditch.

Last night a boy sent me a message asking if I wanted to have brunch on Sunday. I haven't seen him in a few months, even though we've had this thing going for four years. I said it sounded good. There is a part of me that's really irritated with him, since he's part of the whole reason I'm in this situation to start with. But then, going out with him tomorrow might make me feel better. How's that for irony? Anyway, here I am, just waiting for someone to be nice to me, and that's all it takes for me to be pulled out of my coma. Blech.