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Best before: 4-4-09
Ha ha fucking ha.

I can see all the spaces where the light comes through. Everything seems transparent.
Every so often, I can feel my heart faltering; strange, erratic beats that only the deepest breath can hold in sync.
Are you leaving me, little heart? After everything, is this too much? But, somehow, it keeps going. I may be weak, but you've more living to do yet, it says.
The paper faces on my wall are mute, no words of warning today. I take them down; we speak no more.
Strange, terrifying dreams slip away from me when I wake, and I can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong.
Calm down, kid. It will pass, or it won't. Patience.
I guess we'll see, huh?
Tomorrow, I eat acid for breakfast.

Surrounded by lights and echoes of lights, I hurtle through the dark. I don't know which is which anymore. I don't know where I am.
Shouldn't you know this landscape by now, kid?
But I don't, and so I tread coals and the tops of clouds like something out of a dream. Dissolve into the glittering dragon's scales on the highway. There are tentacles growing out of trees and my eyes are too big and too wide, and I am too much of a child to understand anything (but isn't that what keeps you safe?)
Maybe. But I'd like to think there's honesty in it somewhere.
And you'd like to think you matter.
Stop it.
Like there's anything you can do to stop you from being unimportant. Like there's anything anyone can do. Don't you get it? Nobody matters, no matter what they do. Whether you find the cure for cancer or you spend your life on the streets, talking shit. You are just another tiny little ant, crawling this planet day after day, hoping you'll find something worth living for.
Shut up.
Why? I'm right, and you know I am.
Yes, but that's the point. We have to keep making ourselves feel less unimportant because, no matter what anyone says, humans don't handle shit very well. We can't allow ourselves to believe that this is all there is.
Hey kid?
Uh-huh?
You just lost the game.
Damn. You two, whoreface.
Cunt.

To bring up children, use ipecac.

Trigger. Trigger. Trigger.
Today, I will be weak. Trembling and scared; catatonic on the bathroom floor. A familiar tapestry woven in new thread, but clarity is coming through. I argue with the voice of Fear.

This is nuts.
Yes.
I'm scared.
You're scaring yourself. It's all in your head.
Oh.

Nightmare

I am the sugar-fairy, subsisting on energy drinks and plums and bananas, curled up with my aching calves and leaning so close to the pictures (wonderful, swirling things) in my books, that I could fall right in.
In the dark, in my head, I am walking a path I know like the back of my hand. I am followed. The creature of my childhood nightmares lurks in every shadow; slinks and skulks and slides around the tree trunks. Gigantic catlike, monkeylike thing. It is all powerful limbs and ribs and horrible starving face, with a cry like something driven. Like something tortured. Teeth bared, it will not attack. Waits, instead, for me to go mad with the fear of it and run and run, and never stop running. Walks alongside me.

You will always be scared.

It's puppy-jabbing day!
Well, for Reece (yes, sibling spaztard spelled it that way). Fish was moping when he went. Silly fishpuppy. She's almost bigger than he is now, and she bites much harder. Must be her inner rottweiler. If she doesn't understand, she'll try to eat you. Reece kind of keeps her on her toes with his crazy loopy sheepdoggery. She tries to take his face off, but he's much too quick for her to eat him.
Anyway, I must remind daddy to tell the vet that they MUST DESEX MY DOG. There is no way in hell I'm putting her through pregnancy for sibling's amusement.
Hmm...

Infection control

Oh my... The number one method of infection control in hospitals is... Hand-washing. The OCD kind. The treat-everything-as-if-it-is-potentially-infectious kind. The oh-wait-I-just-scrubbed-my-skin-off kind.
But apparently nurses get to stab babies! I did a stabbing-babies dance when I found that out. I get to stab them in the foot. Yay!