Journal 2-27-17 [Gramma]

Chrono Resurrection – Peaceful Day.

I woke up crying today. I don’t mean that I woke up, then started crying. I was having a good dream, and while still dreaming, I realized it was fake; this, still while dreaming, caused me to start crying, which woke me up in tears. This happens now and then, with a nearly identical subject of dreaming every time.

Before addressing that subject, allow me to lighten the mood, by discussing another subject which woke me thusly in the past. There was a girl. She was a bit dense, so we probably wouldn’t have worked out, but she had a good heart – a very rare thing these days. In the dream with her, which caused me to wake up in tears, she farted on my eye while I was sleeping [within the dream]; not merely on my face – no, she meant business.

It was not the horror of a bare-assed eye-fart which caused me to cry, but the scenario surrounding the action: we would have to be pretty goddamned intimate for her to do that, which meant we were romantically entangled. And for the record, while dreaming, and looking back on it now, I thought farting in my eye was fucking hilarious. So, I laughed, I loved, then I woke up crying. I may have had similar dreams of Tranny, but I don’t recall.

Which brings me back to the grim point. The usual cause of my waking up in tears is my grandmother: I dream of being in her company and care again, as a boy, realize it’s fake, start crying and wake up. Other dreams, related to her and that period of my life, have the same effect: once, it was the house she raised me in, in ruins.

I was safe and happy with her; in recalling that feeling, I simultaneously juxtapose it to the present, and become sad. Most of the time, since I lack the company to replicate that contentment, I try not to think about it, and focus on my work or distracting myself with shallow entertainment. So, it makes sense that I’ve only now realized something about myself.

That tricky bitch is why I care about people so much, despite their consistently fucking me over: her treatment of me ingrained a social expectation: if I cared for others, they would care for me. Add my oddly uncommon awareness that morality is the most beneficial conduct, and I now understand the source of my foolishly expecting decency from others. Also the aforementioned, in other entries.

That tricky bitch. I doubt she intended this outcome, and the negative results it’s had on my life. But, if I know her, I’m sure she’d get a snicker out of it: she had a devious sense of humor. Once, we were at the mall, and I saw a used copy of Chrono Trigger, which I had never played. I got very excited, told her of it’s high acclaim and rarity, and asked for it for Xmas. She emphatically shut me down, even relishing it a bit.

That tricky bitch got it for me. She was just fucking with me. I was a little boy. She loved that kind of shit. And so, it’s with pleasure that I repay the burden of a loving childhood, which prevented me from earlier seeing humanity’s pathetic savagery, leading me to waste monumental efforts trying to fucking reason with them.

You know better than to fuck with me, and since you’ve somehow managed to do it yet again, miraculously from the grave, I’m showing the world what you look like in a nightgown. Take that, you bitch.

granny-nightgown

Of course she’s still laughing: even if I beat her, I always felt bad about it. I hope she knew that.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on February 27, 2017.

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