I bet most my watchers have forgotten who I am by now. And when they remember, I bet they're wondering why they watched me, since there's really nothing to see here.

IN THIS MASSIVE JOURNAL, YOU WILL FIND:
Excuses
Emo and paranoia
A dream
Another dream
Mormons
Flaming marshmallows
OH GOD IT WON'T STOP BLEEDING
Rememberance

Well, for those of you who know me and have no idea why I haven't posted anything as of late, I'll explain. Mind you, this is gonna be a loooooooooooong journal entry, so just keep that in mind if you're deciding you're actually gonna read this one out of all the journals that are piling up in your inbox. First off, my doodles have actually gotten WORSE over time, and I don't think they're good enough to bother Photoshopping. And I don't reeeeally like tossing up rough sketches. Not only that, but my scanner has decided to go missing. Yeah, you'd think that'd be hard to lose, but not when I used to move it from room to room and stuff. Basically, wherever I had my laptop. Because my desktop is slow as hell. I should probably work on clearing it out and updating it. And when I knew where my scanner was, I couldn't find the super speshul cord to connect it. Yeah, the cord's detachable. Which is good, I guess, unless you're me. Ooh, but I have a tablet! . . . which I'm actually pretty fail with. I mean, I CAN use it, but things just turn out worse that way. And on top of all that, my internet has been partying so hard that it has a hangover that's probably gonna last for another month or so. Yeah, Comcast high-speed my ass. I'm still waiting for Mom to give up and call the guy again, have him come check things out, etc. etc. The only thing that's really been loading at all recently is Encyclopedia Dramatica, so it's become my lifeblood. And the only reason I can take care of dA business now is because I'm out of town. In Cottage Grove. On dial-up. This is a new level of sad, when the bare minimum of the interwebs beats the hell out of something that's supposed to be 'Comcastic!' Well, anyway, this paragraph is about ten miles long, so on to the next topic.

I suppose this journal must take at least one mandatory emo turn, so let's try to make this quick. I'm a year older than my two closest friends, Pan and Britt, and as of right now, I haven't seen them in over a week. When I got back to Eugene from Cottage Grove last, I texted them both and tried to see if we could hang out and stuff, but Britt's awesome brother was in town, and Pan was in Portland. Well, I think it was Portland. Anyway, I haven't seen them in forever. Well, I texted them both within the past few days, and haven't gotten any responses from either of them. Then I happen to see Britt's dA journal, which mentioned that they were both at her house. So they coordinated somehow, and yet my messages went unnoticed. . . I dunno. Something in me makes me paranoid, because I've lost every other friend I've had, and I just wanna make sure they're not PO'd at me about something I did without realizing it. And these two are the first friends I've had where it doesn't feel like I don't fit in. They have my same sense of humor. There's never that awkward pause after I joke about something where I get stared at as if that was the most retarded thing they've ever heard. Everything just clicks. And I don't wanna lose that, even though we won't be seeing each other every day at school. So it's just kinda weird for me to be away from them for so long, then have all attempts to contact them fail. TL;DR version of paragraph: I'm clingy and paranoid, and probably need to get a life so I don't scare off the people I trust most.

Well, backing out of that segment as quickly as possible because I'm perfectly aware of my irrational paranoia. . . I had the most kickass dream ever a while ago. Maybe not exactly because of the content of the dream, but of the clarity and just. . . GLEEEE.
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Prepare for a really long and potentially boring segment!
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It started off wth Pan, Britt, and I in an old-fashion carriage, riding along this really bumpy road. We were all dressed up. . . Britt had this beautiful green and purple dress with a thin black netting over it, gold beads laced onto the thin cording. Pan's dress was deep red, with black netting and red beads. White lace. Theirs matched, in their own odd way. It was so cute. My outfit was kinda weird. It was what a few people have come to identify as "Kyle blue" lolita dress, but something was different about it. I'll have to try drawing it some time. . . it's way too hard to describe. Anyway, we were having this odd white drink in tea cups. I remember it as being sweet. . . really really sweet, and it made me believe it was sort of delicacy desert. Then the carriage suddenly stopped, throwing me at Pan and Britt. . . I think i got a bloody nose from it. The next thing I knew, we were being dragged out of the carriage by bandits, sold off to slavers. . . It was a blur there, really. We were kept in cages, though Pan and Britt shared one. Our fancy dressed were replaced by rags, which was. . . pretty depressing. Those dresses were awesome. Well, I basically went batshit insane and started flailing at the bars, managing to knock one loose. For some reason, I wasn't a fatty in the dream, so I could slip through the bars. After that, I started wailing on the cage that mah buddez were in. . . but the clang of the loose bar from my cage sent the guards scrambling, so I had to run. Which I actually felt extremely guilty about when I woke up. XD Well, I was on the run, dodging people in the camp and knocking over this really strict lady that looked like she'd fit in the military. Blonde, hair in a bun, very. . . dominating and strong. Well, she joined the chase, since she was apparently heading up the slaver ring. I made it to the edge of the camp, and found something that looked like a closet in a tent. I jumped inside and slammed the door shut, and apparently, it warped me to another spot. When I stepped out, it looked like a desert, with an oasis in front of me and a large manor at its center. There weren't many other places to go, I ran towards the place. And I swear to God, I remember the layout of it exactly. This paragraph is already huge, so I'll detail it somewhere else. Maybe I'll try to build it in Sims 2. Still, that's the part that stood out to me the most. Because in my dreams, unless (and even if) the place is based off of a place I've seen, it changes three or four times in the one dream. This was. . . consistent. And clear. Well, all you need to know is that there was a huge house party going in. At least a hundred people, if not more. So it seemed like it would be a good place to hide, but. . . with the rags, I kinda stood out, and people were keeping their distance as if I was a freak. Which, scrambling through there like a wild animal, I must've looked like one. So there was a constant two- to three-foot bubble around me at all times. Well, I dove into a side-room that was oddly empty, and the crazy blonde lady chased me in there, so I hopped out this window. It gave me a good head start, since she had almost caught me but was stalled by searching. So I raced upstairs, which was pretty much just a big balcony for watching the lower floor, and collapsed at the feet of. . . Dracula. Well, in the style of a long-haired Alucard with much more frilly clothes. My fangirling has seeped into my dreams, and it makes me feel pathetic, but whatever. I looked up and was about to as him to hide me when he just picked me up, jumped onto a beam crossing the room, and climbed into a hidden passageway accessible by a hole in the ceiling. I remember the hallway pretty well, too. Three doors to the left, nothing but a wall on the right, and a pit at the end that led to where his coffin was. It was so interesting. . . and then I got so excited about the dream that I woke up. But afterwards, my mind continued building it, pulling out things like the idea of him throwing parties just so he could watch and study people. Made me think of Gatsby, but he seemed focused on people in general, not just one. Also, he didn't personally give a crap about me, but shielded me in more of a 'why the hell not' mindset. Weird stuff. Anyway, that's about all I can put into text about this dream. . .

. . . SO WHY NOT ANOTHER. Though this one'll be shorter, since it was more murky. It took place at a college that had my middle school's layout. I kept getting lost on my way to classes, and finally wound up at a door that looked normal, but had a keyboard and monitor next to it on the wall. I was like "Huh. Okay. . ?" And just continued looking for the class, which was just across the hall. The teacher didn't seem to give a damn if I was there or not, and was idly talking about some sort of secret hidden behind that door. So I snuck back out and looked at the monitor, which said 'Lament of Fife,' which I somehow connected to 'Fif the lement,' or 'Fifth Element.' So I punched that in as the password, and the door opened to what looked like a small bedroom. Very plain. Desk with computer turned off, bed, table, lamp. Gray filing cabinet with some sort of. . . bottle on top. It was like some sort of vase flask thing. I have no idea. It was pale blue and white. Cloisonne. And when I looked at it, it shifted. Turns out the thing was possessed, because someone's blood was stored in there right before they died of the wounds used to fill the whatchamacallit. I guess that would sorta make it an urn? Who knows. Why is Firefox not saying that whatchamacallit is a typo. So weird. Anyway, I went over and touched it, and I suddenly couldn't let go. My other hand grabbed a pencil and scrawled 'Hideyobashi' on the wall, which apparently is my sleeping mind's best attempt at a Japanese name, even though I kinda know several real ones that are similar. But whatever. Sleepy brain is retarded. Anyway, I woke up after that. Just when things were getting interesting.

Well, since the dream things are gone, I might as well tell a few humorous stories. First of all, Mormons saved my leg from combusting. Yeah, if you're still reading this monster of a journal, there's no way you're passing up that one, huh? Yeah, well, I've just gotten my sleeping hours to be semi-normal. Earlier in the summer, I literally lived at night, because the house was unbearably hot during the day. I never open up my room, since the cat gets in and wrecks my stuff and leaves buttstains everywhere, so I was sleeping on the couch. I kept the curtains closed, and only used a sheet with a nightgown I don't let anyone else see. It really isn't meant to cover much. Anyway, I had been using my laptop while lyong on my back, and ended up passing out with the vent fan on top of my leg. A while later, some Mormon recruiters showed up at my door, and I answered. They tried to talk to me for a while, but I told 'em I was content as I was, and I felt sorry for them having to get all dressed up out in that really hot weather. They could tell I was still half-asleep, so they left. I had been hiding halfway around the door with the sheet wrapped around me, and FINALLY noticed that my leg was really burnt where the fan had been touching. Blistering. And painful. SO THE MORMONS SAVED MY FLESH FROM MELTING. THANK YOU MORMONS.

That wasn't my first scrape with burns this summer. Actually, this tale's on Pan. And before you go all emo if you're reading this, I love you for it, you little buttmunch. <3 So we were all at my dad's new place. . . which reminds me, I need to talk about that, too. . . and we went out back to roast marshmallows. This was right after Britt had realized that marshmallows were a meat product, so she wasn't having any. Though she had one later on, because honestly, it's marshmallows. She has a journal about that somewhere. Anyway, my dad was an awesome person and was digging for things she could roast and grabbed a bunch of frozen Eggo waffles. Still freaking epic. Anyway, Pan was fiddling around with one marshmallow, trying to shake it gently back down onto the stick while it was still on fire. And then it decided it didn't want to be there. Rather, it wanted to be all over my knee. And ankle. While still on fire. I now have a scar in the shape of a T on my knee. No, really, it looks like a T. It's so beautiful. And I have an awesome story to go with it: I was attacked by a flying flaming marshmallow.

And THAT wasn't the weirdest injury I've had this summer. Pan, Britt, and I have been spending time at Britt's house a bit, and we usually stay up all night on RP crack. I'm always the first to crash. It's like a tradition. Anyway, we all got tired at the same time during this one sleepover, so right as we were getting ready to pass out. . . I scratched my arm lazily and felt something wet. It was just a tiny little pinprick, but when I looked down, it was GUSHING blood. Apparently, I hit a vein, because every time my heart beat, it pooled and gushed. Seriously, go grab a paper towel and look at it. Fold it in half. That's how coated the towel we used to cleaqn my arm was. IT WOULD NOT STOP. Just bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and. . . We all flipped out a bit, and Britt's awesome mom got up and was like WTF ARE YOU DOI--. . . OH GOD WUT. Then she went back to bed. All in all, it was hilarious.

Well, now for something I've needed to put up for a while that's wholly unfunny. As I mentioned, my dad now lives in a new place. . . my grandmother's house. She passed away a few months ago, but. . . God, she was more like another mother to me. I told her anything I was too nervous to tell my mom, and she gave me advice. I never really got to say goodbye, either. She was fighting cancer for about 10 months, but it got worse so suddenly. . . When I went down to celebrate both of our birthdays (which are. . . were. . . within three days of each other), she was doing pretty well. The next time I talked to her, she was so doped up on morphine that she actually forgot who I was. It hurt so much. . . And every time I come down here, I find something that makes me cry. The watches that she gave me that I forgot here, her driver's license, her blanket. . . There's always something. And everyone always tells me to appreciate the time I had with her, which is the worst thing they can say. I mean, I have other grandparents that are in their eighties, and Gramma Dixie was 20 years younger. And she's gone now. So yeah, I love all the time I spent with her. . . but I wanted to spend more. I wanted to spend more time going places, learning from her, learning about her. . . and I can't. So. . . guys, if there's one thing of value in this journal, it's this: If you have a grandparent that you love and you don't know much about. . . talk to them. Call them. Ask them how they are. Tell them you want to hear some stories about them. It might seem boring, and you might roll your eyes, but trust me. You're getting something that I waited too long for, something I'll never have.

. . . I'm sorry to end the journal on such a gloomy note, so, uh. Go listen to Longcat's Song on YouTube. It's amazing.