Ugh, my stomach is killing me. It feels like I’m hungry..but I’m also not. Isn’t that odd?

Anyway, I’ll start with my amazing meeting with the author ” Jennifer Murgia”. A sales clerk at a book store told me about the book signing that was happening with her last Monday, so here on this Saturday I got to meet her and got her to sign my book! *Ploxes*

She wrote the book “Angel star”. It was quite good. Not “oh-my-effin’-gawd” good, but good. It actually had a really unique plot and writing, which I enjoyed quite a bit. If you haven’t already, I would recommend you reading it. Though, to my surprise, another author was there – Cyn Balog. Besides her also having an amazingly unique first name, she also wrote the book “Fairy tale”. That too is a really good book. Like I said, if you haven’t already, I would strongly recommend you checking out these two books. I asked them both why they wrote their books. Murgia said that she just had this idea nagging in her head, and Balog said that she really wanted to write a book. I’m not sure how it came up, but the topic eventually moved to romance – Murgia said that every story has to have a little bit of it in it, and Balog said that it’s a really good thing to add to a book. I strongly agree. Also, if I recall correctly, Balog said that she really enjoyed writing romance and that she wanted to add it to her book with a male and female character. I like that answer – in every short story and small book I’ve written, there has always been some sort of male-female romance in it. (I say that without implying that I would ever do any female-female, male-male romance. Not that I’m against homosexual-ness, but I’ve never experienced it so I wouldn’t be able to get into detail or proporly describe the feelings and senses of it.) And generally speaking, romance adds some flavor to the writing. And having a book without romance is like a cookie with no taste. Just not yummy. Of course there are exceptions, as there is to almost everything, but we won’t get into that right at this particular time.

Now onto my dream. It’s rare that I remember a dream like this – the last time I had was the last time I posted about it (in case you were too lazy to go through my posts and find out what my last dream was, here’s the link – Crazy, crazy dream). Here’s basically all what I remember about my dream (warning, a bit graphic in some places):

I was sitting on the side-edge of a strangers bed, a wooden old fashioned, plain bed. It was an unfamiliar home, one I had never seen before. I think I was subconsiously aware that I was dreaming, but that didn’t stop me or make me wake up on it. On the floor in front of me was a scrawny, slick-looking, brown eyed-brown haired, caucasion male. Next to him was a brown haired, fair-skinned female. She was dressed in a plaid over coat and work jeans. He was wearing a white tee shirt and good looking jeans, which made his greasy hair look dirty. My birth parents (I was in foster care because my mother was a — and didn’t want me, then I got adopted by my current real parents, in case you didn’t know. I’m not sure how you would anyway haha) . I don’t know how I recognized them (maybe because it is a dream and I want the people on the ground in front of the bed to be them?), but I did. Just then it felt like I was floating above the whole scene, someone else was in my body and I was just a pedestrian watching, no control over what was happening.

I realized that I – or the person on the bed, if that was even me, which it didn’t since it felt like I was just watching the scene – had a knife i my hand. In a low, menecing voice I murmured something to my birth parents on the ground, then laughed. I brought the knife down to the womans neck first. By the looks of her lips it looked like she was screaming, but there was no sound. I laughed. It was like a silent horror movie. Crimson blood ran out of her pale neck onto the wooden floorboards and she continued to scream without sound, until eventually her screamed died down to whispers. Then nothing at all.

Then, while still laughing I turned my head to the man, he was watching the woman take her last breathes, emotionless. He had left her with the tiny baby which was Ana, so no tears spilled on his part. I rolled up his left arm sleeve, took the blood-stained knife and carved a heart into it. I had sat his body up-right, so the blood flowed down his arm in a dramatic and romantic way. The whole thing was actually quite bitter-sweet in a groosome, discusting sort of way. I then proceeded to spit on the heart that was now scared into the males arm. I walked out of the room then. Then I woke up.

 

What did that dream mean? I have no idea. Why did I dream that seriously messed up dream? No idea. I told my mother about it and she said that it may mean I have hard feelings toward my birth parents. Pssh, naw. I just hope they die somewhere with Satin poking at their eyes with charred ends of sticks :)

G’night.

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