It’s amazing how lost you can become in a book. I started reading last night at nine, next thing I realise it’s one in the morning. I finished my book last night, “Dark Rivers of the Heart” by Dean Koontz. I have only read 5 of his books but I know he is a wonderful writer. I often wonder whether or not he bases his characters on himself, what life he has lead to come up with such ideas and events that cause his stories.
He also has a golden retriever named ‘Anna’, which, coincidentally is my name! A perfect conversation starter if I ever crossed paths with Mr. Koontz.
As two science exams loom over me I am spending next to all day locked firmly in my room, head down on never-ending books, grotesque humanly diagrams and matter of factly wonders. I certainly find it all more interesting than tedious, even if that doesn’t exactly show in my yawns and continuous face slapping.
I am so determined in my revision that I have even made posters and detailed wall hangings depicting various aspects and facts of a number of imaginative topics. Walk into my room and you will be introduced to “The Menstrual Cycle” and “Fighting Diseases”, it’s my very own science land of limitless knowledge.
I wonder the fate of my posters after my exams.
I had a dream last night that my man was pregnant Oh, I also passionately kissed my maths teacher and met some long lost friends. Somehow, I can’t imagine I’d find that in a meaning of dreams book.
I have a long lost friend. He was my best friend and I loved him unconditionally Then one day he left, without telling me. This was 6 years ago now. A few months after his disappearance I had a phone call from him, I can still remember every detail of it now. His voice, his laugh, his presence. He told me he wouldn’t be coming back. But, he did say he’d be back for me when he was 16 and he could escape from his attachments (Of course this isn’t exactly what he said, his privacy of his situation I hold in confidence, maybe I didn’t even fully know his situation). It’s his 16th birthday in September, that’s just 3 months away. I’ve lived for 6 years depending on his return.
I often have dreams of him, even now. Of course he is still 10 years old in my memory and I have grown up somewhat. Everyone of them is just as real. I wake up a broken soul each time when I realise his return was nothing more than a dream, a hope.
I often wonder what he is like now. Where he is, what he’s doing, whether he still remembers me. His best friend. Maybe he’ll never follow up his word of coming back. But I know I wont ever give up.
My lovely, old friend.
“If you don’t feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then probably what you are doing isn’t very vital.” – John Irving
Oh how many times I’ve suffered for this perfect philosophy! So many heedless mistakes that still quake my blood with humiliation even to this very moment. But I never regret. Well, I certianly go over things enough in my head to make it feel like remorse but isn’t even the idea of regret so uninspiring? I think it’s the worst feeling in the world as there’s little hope of curing it. (Unless of course it is something you are fortunate enough to have the chance to re-do).
For two nights now my bedroom has become nothing less than a battle field. Me against a solem moth. That nameless enemy has taken a number of dives at me in my armour (pjamas!) where i’ve had to retreat under my duvet, certianly like a coward. There’s nothing I can really do under my sheets but wait. Adrenaline beating my nerves like a skinned drum. I see it flying above me, ready to attack at any moment so I grab my water spray- if it dared to take a dive i’d show it what i’m made of! Arms as far out as possible I squirted the moth: again and again but it never gave in. It certainly had a grand plan of attack. The moth would pretend to exit through the door, I would close it. I should have known, the moth wasn’t going anywhere and it darted for me. It could read me like a book, apparently. There was nothing I could do but greet my safety cover. Greet is rather an understatement for plunging and screaming until I was out of sight, but it did become apparent I was getting rather acquainted with under my sheets.
I suspect it will be the same tonight. I’ll meet my old enemy, and I shall play out a series of events that would make even the proudest man look like an utter fool.
It’s undoubtedly tragic when you find yourself in love with someone who loves some other fortunate soul. However, it is far worse to witness the latter not realising what they have. Like a tormenting blindness. It just seems to make that unrequited love just that tiny bit more bitter.
I used to be so naive to think that if I was beautiful all my problems would simply not exist. I can’t admit that i’m totally over that assumption, but I realise now beauty isn’t always an attribute that holds limitless potential.