She's my fave - undressing in the sun.
I read a pretty interesting story last night by Faulkner called A Rose For Emily. I like it so much I went to my mom's room and read it again aloud for her. Then we laid in bed talking about a story she'd read earlier in the night about an obese, middle-aged, psychotic kindergarden teacher. The writer really penetrated the mind of a child-killer with a shady background. Mom read me a couple of segments so chilling, I had a little trouble falling asleep.
Then I went to sleep and had two dark dreams: one about watching a film made by an insane person who then wanted to kill me because I didn't like the movie and another about Louie flipping out over his car being wrecked by a dog. Don't ask. The second one was more strange than frightening, but the first one was FUCKING SCARY. I know it doesn't sound like the best plot but it was extremely intense. And then the night before last, I had one of the shortest dreams I've ever dreamt.
I'm in the shower washing my hair (lah-dee-dah) and suddenly I feel the water get extremely hot. I'm blinded for a second as I wince, shutting my eyes and turning around towards the faucet where I see a grotesque-looking hand on the faucet, the arm coming from outside the shower curtain. I woke up and nearly pissed my pants.
Is something plaguing me? Am I having these dreams for a reason? Isn't this the way Stephen King gets ideas for novels? Should I write a collection of creepy dreams?
I got a letter in the mail from Irvi yesterday including a picture of her and her little date at Morp. She looks absolutely gorgeous and I can't wait to see her again. I showed it off to Danny and Fatima during french class and Danny agrees that she look beautiful. I immediately abandoned the chicken and noodles I was making to sit down and write back. I was so eager to send it off that I insisted my dad mail it this morning but alas, I forgot to put a stamp. I think I'll ride my bike to the mailbox by U-Mix today after visiting my grand-mimi.
Good stuff, Erica
Then I went to sleep and had two dark dreams: one about watching a film made by an insane person who then wanted to kill me because I didn't like the movie and another about Louie flipping out over his car being wrecked by a dog. Don't ask. The second one was more strange than frightening, but the first one was FUCKING SCARY. I know it doesn't sound like the best plot but it was extremely intense. And then the night before last, I had one of the shortest dreams I've ever dreamt.
I'm in the shower washing my hair (lah-dee-dah) and suddenly I feel the water get extremely hot. I'm blinded for a second as I wince, shutting my eyes and turning around towards the faucet where I see a grotesque-looking hand on the faucet, the arm coming from outside the shower curtain. I woke up and nearly pissed my pants.
Is something plaguing me? Am I having these dreams for a reason? Isn't this the way Stephen King gets ideas for novels? Should I write a collection of creepy dreams?
I got a letter in the mail from Irvi yesterday including a picture of her and her little date at Morp. She looks absolutely gorgeous and I can't wait to see her again. I showed it off to Danny and Fatima during french class and Danny agrees that she look beautiful. I immediately abandoned the chicken and noodles I was making to sit down and write back. I was so eager to send it off that I insisted my dad mail it this morning but alas, I forgot to put a stamp. I think I'll ride my bike to the mailbox by U-Mix today after visiting my grand-mimi.
Good stuff, Erica