Phantom Pain.

Come on in,
I've gotta tell you what state I'm in,
I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones,
That I started looking for a warning sign.
~ Coldplay, Warning Sign

Sometimes, when a limb is removed during an amputation, an individual will continue to have an internal sense of the lost limb. This phenomenon, among the many others that exist in the human body, is called phantom pain. Experiencing severe pain in the lost limb is regular among the amputees and according to medical doctors, their pain is real.

I wonder what will come next. I'm scared out of my mind, but you could never tell. I can't even tell. Maybe I'll make the right decision this time, but knowing myself I highly doubt it. Besides work and Rasta, there's nothing much more to my life. More recently I've started talking to my best friend in the world again...not that we'd stopped talking. I missed you so babe, you make me happy.

I think I might be becoming one of those stupid girls. Maybe I always was one. I've gotten myself into an impossible situation. Fcuked up beyond measure. Half of me hates it, half of me loves it. When it's over it's gonna be the same, just in reverse. I think I may have the fortitude to fool myself into not being too affected by it. I guess it won't matter really. I'm here all alone, all the people I really care about are thousands of miles away. So if I fall, like that tree in the forest, and there's no one to hear it...maybe it won't matter? I hate myself for having not one drop of real character. Maybe if I make the right decision this time I can claim some. I don't know if it works that way.

I ordered Chinese food last night from "We Delivery Cigarette Too!"...and the dude buffed me for taking long to get downstairs. I'm so emotionally fragile that he made me cry, and all he said was: "Where are you? I'm waiting!" God, I'm so retarded. Got back upstairs and prepared myself to experience the only real joy I have these days: opening fortune cookies. Not because I believe in their amazing prophecies or anything, just because they amuse me. This one said: "God looks after you especially." It made me cry. I may have lost my mind.

I wasn't always this way. I promise. I had direction and stuff. I had a sense of right and wrong. I could feel things other than numbness. I'm not always numb though, sometimes I cry for no reason; probably just to make sure I can. I feel pain too, but I suppose I shouldn't worry. It's just the agonising phantom pain of the legs I used to stand on.

Emergency hysterectomy...STAT.

“I would be the most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.”
~ Anna Quindlen

Child-rearing must be the hardest job on earth.

I love my neices and nephews. I had never seen half of them before I met them until last Tuesday, but I instantly loved them: without reason, and without condition. Can I always stand them? Hell no. I got to be "Aunty" (though none of them called me that) for seven days, and I distinctly remember saying to my father more than once over the past week, "I'm never having children." I know this is a far cry from what I had planned for my life, if indeed I ever planned anything. But oh my God. Children are hard-damned-work. Especially four of them. Just keeping them alive and functioning is exhausting, far less for keeping them sane, sensible and happy. It's so tempting to shove a bottle in their faces , or stick them in front of the TV so they'd just shut up for a second. That's so wrong. I know that, yet I was still tempted to do it. That's why I decided that I'm never having any. I don't want my children to end up as little good-for-nothings, nor do I want them to resent me for the rest of their lives. I want them to be intelligent, successful, good citizens of the world, who are able to better it by being in it. That's a tall order. I couldn't do it with a robot, far less a child.

How the hell could anyone trust ME with a child?

I'm calling my OB/GYN.

What Dreams May Come

"Night has brought to those who sleep, only dreams
they cannot keep."
~ Enya

I haven't officially slept in fourty hours. Unless you count nodding on the way to church in my friend's SUV, while he drove entirely too fast, to be sleeping. I don't. Stayed on the phone for six and a half hours last night speaking with Rasta about religion, and God, and truth. He determined about me the same thing that most people do: that I'm immovable. And I'm glad of it. Don't get me wrong, I'm nothing of the sort to preach to you, or to practice what I don't preach. I do, however, stand firm in certain things: truths that I have proven to be so. I'm glad he saw this in me. I cannot explain why. If you knew the whole story, maybe you'd understand. He, I would say (and so would he), is a walking contradiction. Then again so am I.

Now the time for rest has come, finally. I should probably seize it, but instead I am up, refusing to succomb to the exhaustion that is overwhelming my body. Yesterday I started moving too. All by myself. Who needs men? (Me! Me! I do!). Steups. I swear I dislocated my uterus and my left kidney. Bye-bye babies. Was supposed to move the rest of shit tonight, but that ain't happening. I'll do it tomorrow night, the night before Monday: the day from hell. In that one day I must try to get my scholarship back, finish move out, check out, pack and obtain leave from two jobs to go to my brother's in Georgia - a trip that I leave for the next day, mind you. Gyad. I should rest while I can, shouldn't I? I hope Rasta doesn't call. He knows I'm exhausted. I'm well aware of the fact that we talk entirely too much. I'm addicted and so is he. This is not good.

I hope I dream tonight. I never remember what my dreams are about unfortunately, and sometimes fortunately.

I want to sleep. I want to have nice dreams. I bid you goodnight.