Apparently there are quiet a few mutts out there, myself included. i'm English, Irish and Scottish. i guess that makes me both independent and at war with everyone, cold and at war with myself and crazy so fuck it and let's get drunk! i think it also makes me one of the whitest girls in the world. i have to dye and draw my eyebrows or they are invisible. My mother is super white with red hair that has darkened over time and lack of sun. i *had* red when i was born but it all fell out and grew back platinum. it is one of my most bitter failings. sure i was a newborn, but . . . well . . . i just love red hair.

Yesterday, work was scary. the best manager we have left. he is also Myste's landlord so there could be far-reaching consequences. my supervisor, the most knowledgeable and nicest, also got fired. In fact, they walked out a whole slew of managers and supervisors. i am going to be fired soon for less than stellar sales. i can work my ass off but no one wants to buy shit right now.

i'm stressed. i want to claw my way out of my skin and my life and i know that i can't do that. there is too much riding on me. too many people need me to be sane. too many of the people i used to turn to are so wrapped up in their own slow-motion train wrecks to even notice.

i had a dream the other night that someone i know killed everyone i loved. we were all in one big house, no idea why. she was supposed to be out with a friend on a road trip but i woke up from a drugged sleep to the sound of gunshots, individual, deliberate, distinct. i couldn't wake anyone or get to the door or window so i slipped into the closet and backed into a funky recessed corner behind the shoes and clothes. she killed everyone in that room and slowly walked into the closet and turned right to me, pulling the clothes back. she looked at me for a moment and raised the gun. i tried to talk to her, ask her why, but she just pulled the trigger, shooting me in the head.

right now, i think life is just like that. just because disaster hasn't struck me yet, doesn't mean it won't. it doesn't care, it's not a game, there is no calculation. it is just creeping through the house, taking everyone with deliberation while inspiring a coincidental terror. nothing personal. i can hear and listen, try to wake them, try to explain, but i can't help, not really, and sooner or later, i'll be backed in a closet and it won't even matter.

2 people know who that "Chris" person is

confessed on Tuesday, Apr. 26, 2005