"don't shut this out [. . .] soap and human sacrifice go hand in hand."
i've had what men call "a long day."
up since eight, i spent four hours driving back and forth to my parents' house. my mum made a not so nice comment about me, my brother smacked my hand with a wifel ball, the cat did her best to piss me off. i ate lasagna and slightly stale, but still tasty, bread. mostly i felt introverted and withdrawn.
brian, kels, momma, and i looked at pictures taken six, seven, eight years ago. in a lot of them, most of them, i had my wrist wrapped. i had forgotten, consciously forgotten anyway, how much a part of my life my "bad wrist" was. it brought back a flood of memories about thearapy and pain visualization. i don't think i'm ever going to be ready to go through that again.
last night i dreampt dream after dream after dream, and regardless of what else happened in these dreams, billy died in every one. he'll be home in another week and i will be glad to hear his voice again.
another week starts up tomorrow. week seven of ten. it'll start off with me looking at two lines of kids and chanting, "clap two times if you can hear my voice. [pause] clap two times if you can hear my voice." followed by "good morning lawnton!" [kids respond, "good morning miss molly!"] "today is monday and the beginning of week seven." from there my day will progress into swimming and lunching and reading and playing, ending sometime around 3:00 and bringing me home here 3:20.
tomorrow will also be what men call "a long day."
up since eight, i spent four hours driving back and forth to my parents' house. my mum made a not so nice comment about me, my brother smacked my hand with a wifel ball, the cat did her best to piss me off. i ate lasagna and slightly stale, but still tasty, bread. mostly i felt introverted and withdrawn.
brian, kels, momma, and i looked at pictures taken six, seven, eight years ago. in a lot of them, most of them, i had my wrist wrapped. i had forgotten, consciously forgotten anyway, how much a part of my life my "bad wrist" was. it brought back a flood of memories about thearapy and pain visualization. i don't think i'm ever going to be ready to go through that again.
last night i dreampt dream after dream after dream, and regardless of what else happened in these dreams, billy died in every one. he'll be home in another week and i will be glad to hear his voice again.
another week starts up tomorrow. week seven of ten. it'll start off with me looking at two lines of kids and chanting, "clap two times if you can hear my voice. [pause] clap two times if you can hear my voice." followed by "good morning lawnton!" [kids respond, "good morning miss molly!"] "today is monday and the beginning of week seven." from there my day will progress into swimming and lunching and reading and playing, ending sometime around 3:00 and bringing me home here 3:20.
tomorrow will also be what men call "a long day."