Hangover? [journal]

5:22am - I haven't really been asleep since 3 this morning. I think maybe it's because I wasn't sleeping because I was tired, but because I was so dizzy my head throbbing increased in intensity every time I shifted myself, until I fell asleep. Now that I'm awake there's the expected dull ache in my forehead and a stale feeling in the throat, and my limbs are sort of aching but numb, espeically the hands.

Of course I didn't actually get up at 3, I waited for my alarm at 5, but I didn't really fall into a deep sleep during that time. I mostly just sat up to switch CDs and fell into bed again. One notable dream, though -- I'm carrying some nice sword in its scabbard with me, and I'm in some cutlery store (that's right; things that cut). "Are you looking for something?" "No, just browsing." "You look very familiar. Are you going to U of A?" I look at the attendant, who is sitting on a chair, blonde, and wearing a gray U of A top. "Why, yes." Just then, she opens one of her files and takes out an envelope with a photo of me clipped to thefront and flashes it by me. Then for some unknown reason Mr. Graham walks in and occupies her. I don't remember what they were talking about.

Then I'm walking down an old school hallway -- it's just like the GATE hallway at QE but with stone walls and pillars. The bell rings and I'm supposed to go to class, but I can't find Mr. Jolly's class. I mean, I look up and down the halls and I can't find him in a classroom, nor a classroom with student in it, waiting for a teacher. Eventually I decide that the only classroom that could possibly be his is the empty one with the locked door right next to the main stairwell. Somehow I still have the sword with me but no one gets scared for runs away or calls a lockdown (!). Something else non-plot related happens, and then I wake up, thinking that the reason I couldn't find my class was because there was no class -- the kids that were there were there for summer school and Mr. Jolly's already back in Australia.

7:48am - Finally my sister stopped driving. It was creeping me out.

10:10am (PDT) - Creeped out in a "whoa, Viv's driving!" way, as opposed to Viv's "Aaaagh! Mildoo's driving and she's gonna go crazy!" sort of creeped out when I drove two years back. My "fuzzy" headache is finally starting to fade. The dullness seems to originate from the centre of my forehead, while the staleness is sort of coming from the back of the top of the mouth. It's not a tangible staleness, just a feeling of flavor that's combined with the dullness.

12:00am (midnight) - I found a quiet, private moment to talk with [my cousin] Anna a little earlier, so I told her what I did last night and she confirmed that my plight with the fuzzy headache and the numb arms and ache in upper left arm (this was in the morning and before and during breakfast) was probably a hangover. I don't think I'll ever really know if it truly was or not, since I personally don't really want to try that again or to go farther. Especially not farther. Yet I do not think that I could be able to successfully resist for too too long, which is particularly troubling for me since I am burdened with enough troubles already. That these troubles lower my natural defenses is also troubling, if not more so. It is truly a downward spiral from which it is so difficult to turn back, even when I keep telling myself not to go on, by day and by night. I should give up altogether (the habit, I mean), but by no means will I give it away or waste it. I am not one for waste, and I must let this go as soon as I am finished with it.

Pouring out frustrations [journal]

Eeew, my finger is bleeding.

It really sucks having to try to just ignore grandma's made up stories. Not that she's telling them to the kids or anything, but when it's lunch and she's babbling to my parents/relatives, while we're all at the same table, it's an exercise in tuning out. Fortunately the restaurant was pretty noisy and I couldn't hear them very well from the other side of the table.

I kind of wonder if I could really survive 2.5 weeks without my music. I mean, I survived a week last year, but last year I had sheets of paper with song lyrics that I could stare at and sing to myself, but I don't now. So I'm stuck with tunes only.

I feel so lonely without my knives. It's making me feel more intense urges to want to have a gun in my hands, and I don't know why.

Essentially it's a desire to have power and control over your fate (and possibly others', if you're into that). It's like "well, I can't have complete control over what happens to me, but it's comforting to feel that I'm holding onto something that could be the difference between my or someone else's life or death." Okay, so I'm really into that murder thing. What's nice about having this sort of self-consciousness about that is that it means I'm less likely to actually do it due to the whole conscience thing. At the same time, though, life betcomes a tug-of-war between good and evil -- between a type of good I cannot commit and an evil that I also cannot commit.