Someone once asked me if I considered myself a dreamer.
I don't remember my answer.

I'm writing a blogstory. It has a really weird, unfinished plot that involves a girl called Fren who lives in this rather frightening place. Feel free to read it. But yeah, it's crazy.

Happy belated birthday to our special little Jew, Sarah.

I feel like a seven year old again. I want my mommy.
I'm really frightened. Really terribly frightened. The kind of frightened that can't be shown and must be hidden. That's what happens when your heart gets frightened.
My mom called me, and told me something that made my heart beat so quickly I thought it was going to leap out of my throat. I instantly reverted to one word, fright hiding sentences, like "Yes." "No, I'm fine." "No." "Okay." "Bye". Then I high-tailed it out of the living room, out of my sisters sight, and cried. I admit, I am leaping to major conclusions, because nothing has been determined yet, but the thought of that happening makes me cry.
And then I made a promise to my best friend. One I will keep. I won't let them hurt you. I'll make them kill me first. Seriously. I won't let them hurt you.

I won't be in tomorrow morning. Two appointments. And a promise.

Meagan and I have a brilliant plan to get back at the people upstairs. Last night, they were playing Eminem's 8 Mile song so loud ornaments fell off the mantle.
We need to borrow a dog...