Death II

Maybe Edward is right. Maybe I am somehow dependent on others for my happiness. That anxiety I get when I am waiting fruitlessly for people to call me. Like they have psychic abilities and are able to read my mind and feelings. Damnit. To hell.

He had a dream that we broke up. Is that a prophetic dream? Or is it one of desire? And what does it mean that I had a dream where he spoke of us taking a break? In the same night?

Damnit. Truly.

I wish death would talk to me. Comfort me some. I am not feeling like this life thing. I wish that the red mark on my stomach would bring death.

Damnit. I do not like to talk like this. At all.

I'll call you...if I remember... Am I that hard to remember? And where does this come into play with my lesson learning of wanting what I have. Is this what I want? Am I supposed to just kick everything to the curb that does not bring me immediate satisfaction? And where is my worth? I keep remembering the whole Joy Luck Club thing. But it never sticks with me.

Damnit. Really.

In five days, the 20th, I have a feeling that something will happen.

Death. Damnit.