I will be short. I will be frank. Nothing good can come of walking at night. Nothing. The people of Dreamwood failed to inform me that there is a big ass hole that apparently anyone can fall into. I'm sure you can tell I'm just a little perturbed. That's because all I have to show for this week are two sprained ankles. One thing that I've begun to realize about Dreamwood is that you are, well off or not, on your own. You are alone here. I realized that when just the nicest fellow walked by my untimely grave to insult me. In hindsight, he was making conversation but I wasn't in the mood for conversing. This man who, to me, could very easily be a meth user had the most bullshit accent I've heard in my lifetime. It was like he was trying to convince himself that we was something other than the person he knows himself to be. I cannot tell you why we would do that, perhaps because with two identities you are less alone. If that were true, I wouldn't feel so alone. Even now that I'm out of frying pan..which I've just decided to call if from now on, in part because of its temperature but more to the allusion to the expression "out of the fire into the frying pan".. sitting here writing this, I am strangely alone. I'm afraid I'll get used to it. I don't want the loneliness to define me as it has the other tenants of Dreamwood. In comparison, I am just a visitor.
Perhaps I will add more, depending on how much time I have to spend in the hospital. But the morphine I forced the nurses to give me are making me just the slightest bit tired, and I'm tired of being conscious.
Blog is up, check it out.
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