Random Chaos

This week is starting off to be a big trouble week.

Right on the heels of a murdershift—not a real murdershift, as I only had laundry today, but a combined one since nobody got home before six yesterday (?!)—I’m facing trouble with my PTSD again. And it’s…RIDICULOUS.

Between the actual problems—people bumping into me, poking me, prodding me, and standing too godsdamn fucking CLOSE even after having received warning, not to mention the fact that people keep REACHING HANDS AT MY FACE—I’m having problems with my soreness. I can feel it every time that I don’t chase a meal with an alka-seltzer.

Then there’s the fucked up dreams.

I didn’t mind the other one the other day—even though moving the cereal around like that is fucking mean—but the one last night was…weird.

People kept stealing things from me and then the apocalypse hit. Everyone else was having a hard time of it. I just remembered to loot the bodies afterward.

Then there was this afternoon. I fell asleep when I didn’t intend on it. I was being held hostage along with some schoolkids I’d never seen before wearing the blandest Catholic school plaid I’ve ever seen. Our fate hinged on the people outside paying ransom for…

ducks.

There were three mallards and a hen. And an egg…

I was more worried about the egg.

A wicked cramp woke me up and the first thing I did was look in the nearest basket to make sure the egg was intact. The egg was gone. Oh gods, the egg was gone, and it might’ve been broken, and if that egg was broken then we were ALL about to DIE—

It wasn’t until I remembered a certain badly translated line—“THINK OF THE DUCKS!”—that I realized it was a dream.

…I looked around again for the egg before getting a couple of pickles to eat. And then drinking the pickle juice.

…I might need a break.