Stories

The short stories that involve me.

January 26, 2014: Dream

Visited Sylvia, left without saying goodbye—she was asleep. Stayed in different rooms, John was there and wanted everyone to collect mud for him. He was making something with it and Alabama didn’t have enough.

On the way to the airport I saw either Haley or Cecily.  We jumped out of our cars during a red light and said hi. Followed them somewhere.  Road was winding.  Someone else with me wore half of a hat.

Was going to eat lunch with someone. Rob or Steven.  They thought I was in Huntsville; I was in Auburn.

January 20, 2014: Dream

I took a football class and it was in a basement.  Coach didn’t care much about us but was a good teacher. He didn’t want us to get hurt; liability?  I skateboarded to class every day.  I played starbound in class.  Learned how to properly throw a football.

Parents were all killed, hit by cars. Nathan Hilton killed then accidentally.  Hit mom 3 times. Last one killed her.  Nathan didn’t know. Was mortified when I told him he did.  I wasn’t angry at him, just disappointed.

January 18, 2014: Dream

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Are with family and falco.  Condescending towards dad; he said I had to have some sort of history with falco and I said it was a long time ago.  Large fancy dinner.

January 15, 2014: Dream

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Evil baby at Newcomb’s.  Hit me with unfavorable combination of chemicals.  Saw a large spider catch a crab.  Dad sitting in chair, said “wish I had a needle.” Explained to brother mechanics of manaburn/hearthstone, not sure which.  Cards had three special properties that gave bonuses; two were standard stats, third increased some ability.  We all drove cars somewhere. I drove him there, family came, drove back separately.

January 13, 2014: Dream

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I visited you in Vermont, saw all your friends, hung out, got along.  We kissed several times, not in front of your friends, like you were embarrassed. I was leaving, riding a bus on the way out, we packed everything up and you said you hoped you would come home with me next time. I asked why and you said it was because you were spontaneous. We shared a few kisses before I left but not immediately before.  You avoided that with a sly look on your face.  I had apparently brought a tent, super soaker, lots of food, backpack, and other goodies.  I then left through a cramped garage door opening.

Still alive!

I ended everything a bit too down on that last note; I’m not normally a downer, I just had a lot on my mind.  Lately, I’ve been writing down whatever I dream about and it’s been pretty interesting.  I think I’ll go ahead and publish them here; those who might see this are an interesting enough group of people and I think maybe some of these might make you laugh, or cry, or provide more questions than answers.  So just a little FYI before starting, I write these down in my phone as soon as I wake up and refused to edit them at all.  They may have spelling / grammatical / other nonsense errors that may just be me coming out of consciousness.

Maybe it would be fun to associate each dream with an unrelated picture?  I think I would like that.  Also, I think I’ll limit myself to one per day until I’m caught up with now.  No need to post the last three months of dreams in one sitting!

Life is *hard* sometimes and sometimes you just feel like writing. Most of the writing I do ends up being sent to someone or finds its way into my phone; there’s not really a lot of writing that I do publicly. So why do I resort to this long outdated platform? Privacy, perhaps, or at least the illusion of privacy. I’ve long since cared what most people think about me, my attitudes, my perspectives. I think the reason I’ve chosen this particular medium is so that someone might see it. Maybe they’ll find something beautiful in this chaos or perhaps they’ll realize that they aren’t alone; sometimes it’s good to be reminded of that.

It’s not every day, or every week, or every month that I find myself crying. In the last several years, I can only pick out a handful of instances. I find that every time I do, I’m reminding myself that I don’t always have it held together, that I’m not perfect, that I’m, in fact, only a small small part of the universe. Relatively speaking, we all are — right along with everything we know and love. It’s good to be reminded of how little some things matter in life; it at least provides me a sense on awareness and a sense of perspective.

The other day I found myself in tears. Of course life is hard, it’s a fact well known by everyone. However, in that instance, I felt that it was my life that’s hard. It’s silly to think to think that anyone has it worse than anyone else; it’s disrespectful to those that genuinely do have a more difficult time in their walk through life, but in my sorrow, I didn’t think about that. I didn’t consider their pains and their hardships because I couldn’t witness it, because I couldn’t even begin to think about it.

I took a nice picture of myself in that moment. I took a picture of myself at my worst. It’s not something anyone ever really gets a chance to do and I’m thankful for the opportunity. I needed to hold that moment in time. I needed to bring with me tangible evidence of my own fragility. I needed a reference point for the future. I needed a reminder of my own expression for absolute sorrow.

My parents are getting a divorce.

My father, who couldn’t be less of a father right now, has been juggling an affair for the better part of two years. In a few short months, I’ve managed to lose all respect for this man and I’m not sure I could ever call him my father again.

I never realized on a personal level that knowledge can be painful. Even despite this, I still have questions that I can’t answer. What drives people to do such ridiculous things? How can anyone be that irresponsible?

I wrote him a letter. I was tactful and treated him like I would an irresponsible friend. I felt like I had it all together then. A day later I just broke down. I don’t think I even recognized there was a problem until something minute triggered an avalanche of emotion. I dialed his number, hoping to let him hear the pain he’s causing the people he claims to love. No response. I left a sobbing voicemail at 4am and just told him that I couldn’t imagine hating anyone more than I hated him.

That night I set about blocking every form of communication that he could use to contact me. Shutting people out of my life is a rare occasion and, at the very least, I need time away from him. It’s a sad thought to think about the schism he’s created between us, but worse yet that I plan on keeping it that way. They say that you should avoid toxic friends, but what about family?

Right now, I feel fine. I know I’ll get through this. At the very least, I either have to get through it or have to stop living and I have too many things I need to do before I’m ready to stop living. We all have to realize that life is just hard sometimes and there’s no sense in trying to circumvent that fact. I’m just thankful that, despite all of this, I’m still lucky to be as fortunate as I am. This experience will inevitably strengthen the remainder of my family but, in the transitional period, I think I should just expect more sorrow.

Sometimes I just can’t.
It’s alright though; don’t worry.
Everything is ok.

I don’t think I’m too old for these.

I don’t think I’m too old for these.