Stumbling upon things that were swept under rugs.

[cherrygashes]

I was reading through some of my old, real-life journals, and I came across this entry that has had me puzzled all night. The writing is very scribbled, and parts are running off of the page. I am guessing it is something I woke up and wrote after dreaming, or having a nightmare, or something of that sort. That is what I am hoping at least. Here goes:

Clay water in a K-MART parking lot
Writing letter to mother, apologizing...
for not saying goodbye
Sitting around with mother,
crying to her about...
writing letters to Blake, Granny
and someone else.
Man shoots me from outside
of a car
in chest.
Doesn't kill me first shot - so he keeps shooting.
I should be dead, but my body isn't limp. I think to myself
that I must be alive in the afterlife and just watching over people,
finishing out life.

And on that note, I am going to bed.

OH, OH, by the way. I have a dog, Pavlov, his identification. I do not know what kind he is or how old, but he is a lap dog, and he loves me already, and we sleep together, and it has sort of long, white hair, and, yeah, I said that he loves me. He rides with me everywhere and whimpers when I am away. And he thinks my tractors sexy....
Yeah, pictures are in store...