Like a storm, my thoughts became jumbled. So clear and focused, only to be thrust again into such a panicked state of madness. These lucid states.. they never really last long.

The echo of my heels as they pounded into the wet ground beneith me served as a tempo to begin to calm my nerves. When I finally had mind to glance up and look around me, my surroundings had changed, and I could not recall where I was, anymore. Such a thing should have concerned me, perhaps.. but the slick, wet feel of black vitae as it dripped down my throat called for more acknowledgement.

I pressed my hand there, sopping up the sticky mess with my palm, lip curling into an awkward little smile as I considered what Jeriah might say if I told him what I'd experienced. Was I actually -alone- in my mind? Or was I falling down some strange road of maddness that only sucks in the most unfortunate of my kind?

Sam won't stop laughing, now..

Imagine my surprise when the image in the window started to move. We could have been sisters if not for the way that her hair fell around her face. Her hair never did that, no matter how hard we tried to force it around the hot iron. Always so damned mousy. But that image couldn't have been me. I wasn't moving like it was.

But it still seemed so damned real.

A chipped fingernail raised up, that apparition seeming to point to something beside her. As though to indicate where the door was or perhaps to indicate a thing that could not be see, she aimed that finger over to the side. My fingers dug into my palm as I stared at this window, oblivious to the muttered statements of the other people in the place. The slurping of coffee and the clinking of little pieces of flatware rubbing on plates had all but evaporated in the appearance of this thing.

Her finger hooked back along her own throat, dragging that nail across it and leaving a razor thin crimson mark behind it. She hadn't been pointing at anything. Just preparing to evacuate soul. My hand flew to my throat and unable to regard another moment, I fled into the night streets.

Anywhere but there.

Bits and Pieces. (A story..)

People hardly ever pause to consider where they're going with their lives. Moments pass us by as quickly and fleeting as thoughts.. one happening after another, with such insignifigance, that we hardly take moments to piece them together and make a full sentence out of a jumble of words.

That's the thought that went through my mind as my fingers smoothed the worn fabric of my skirt back down over my hips. The warmth I felt between my thighs, and the itch of crumpled bills tucked against my right breast was a sad reminder of what had gotten me to the place I was now.. like a bitter example of my previous thought. I'd be a liar if I didn't say I smiled a bit in self mockery.

When I turned to grab my purse from where I'd dropped it to the ground, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a dirty window. I thought about pausing to inspect the ragged display of my image, but instead, I found myself squinting and leaning forwards to look past the illusion of a mirror that bright lights could give off.

(To Be Continued...)

Just like that, weirdness happens..

The strangest thing happened to me, today. I was on the bus, minding my own business and gaping openly at Justin's Doppelganger as I seem to be running into him quite often, these days. I felt something buzz on my lap, and thinking it was my cellphone telling me something, I reached into my pocket.

Nothing. No messages. No voicemails. No missed calls.

Back to gaping.

And then I feel something buzz, again. Intrigued, and realizing that this pleasing sensation was actually coming from my purse, I reach into the pocket that I sometimes stash my phone, only to find this weird alien cellphone sitting there.

Now, I drunkenly lost my phone at a friend's house over the weekend, so I think: no problem. I'll just call Alisha and see if anyone is missing their phone.

Turns out, Nope.

So.. now I'm really confused. Time goes by.. and I feel this alien phone buzzing again. Oh! A call! So I answer it.

An odd little conversation occurs, in which a man sounds rather confused as to why a woman is talking to him. I can only imagine this is because well.. this isn't my phone. After about five minutes of explaining, I finally let this man know that no, I am not 'Marty', and no.. I have no idea where this telephone has come from.

He kindly informs me that he'll let Marty know who has his phone. At this point, I play the waiting game, again.

And another call comes in. I answer, only to find that I am now speaking to the actual owner of this phone. This is a good sign. I politely ask him if he was at Alisha's party over the weekend. Nope.

"I live in Cloverdale..." he explains.

That's funny. I haven't been anywhere near that area in some time.

"Well, were you at the Celtic Times on Saturday?" I ask eagerly.

"No, I was at a football game..."

Huh. Now it is starting to get weird. How the fuck did I get this phone!?

The conversation goes on.. each of us absolutely bemused as to how I ended up with his phone in the first place. Finally, I agree to meet him at a gas station across the street from campus on my lunch break so that I can return his ill-begotten cellphone.

I bring a small army of friends with me. I'm not a dumb girl. I know that sometimes people do strange things in the hopes of luring pretty young women into their grasp, so I had backup. When the man rolls up in his truck, I'm hoping to recognize him. To get some sort of inkling as to -how- I ended up with his telephone in my purse.

I've never seen this person before in my -life-.

It was a rather anticlimactic exchange, to be honest. I handed him the phone, he asked me if I knew a man named 'Darrel', which I do, but it wasn't the Darrel he was asking about.. and then he drove off.

Didn't even say thank-you.

At the end of all of this.. I keep thinking to myself, that I am probably going to go to my grave..never knowing how the hell I got ahold of that damned phone.

Let's see, here..

So Justin reminded me yesterday that while I give him shit for never blogging.. I actually hardly ever do it myself, anymore.

Out of fear of being a hypocrite, here I am.

So it's occurred to me that I worry too much. I've observed the massive workload that is being handed off to me, and then I make a list of what I need to have done over the weekend. It's a big list. Something huge and blood-pressure raising.

Every weekend, I sit on my ass eating cheetos, watching Season 5 episodes of House, and drinking obscene amounts of tea. Every hour or so, I do some homework, then go back to my usual tactic of fucking around and doing nothing. By the time the weekend closes, I've gotten about half my list of homework done, and I spend Monday morning chewing down my fingernails.

Then I look at my schedule. Is everything that needs to be turned in done? Yes. Do I have time over the week to finish other things? Yes. Is my head on fire, and am I going to die? No.

Then what the fuck am I so worried about?

I think I could use a chill pill.

Details, and more details

I woke up today contemplating doing something very, very stupid. I don't think I've thought about hurting myself in order to get out of work in a very long time and it seems that the time had come for me to go and think about it again. In my infinite wisdom, I sat in bed and wondered what kind of injury would be most believable but with as little pain and disabling as possible.

I realized that my little toe might have to someday take one for the team. And I have two of them. That's like two days off in the bank, courtesy of God and my parents. They won't be tracking those in any HR department. This, I know.

I feel it slipping.. I feel it slipping away.

Accumulated Amortization upon my Sanity has been Debited to my Amortization of Sanity Expense account. D: