Very rough sleep last night. Woke to the sound of my roommate's mule-like laughter, bass-heavy music, and apparently hilarious morning show. Got to bed at around 5am, but the eerie sound of creaking forced me to get up to shut a wind-molested laundry door. Heavy rain started in around that time. Not the comforting, melodic kind of pitter-patter, the obnoxious, threaten-to-cave-in-your-roof type of rain.
I dreamt of being murdered. Incest, rape, and the inadvertent killing brought tears to my murderer's eyes, but all I could feel was fear and disgust. Flashes. Heavy darkness. Grotesque laughter. A menacing presence, intangible.
Obviously, I've been watching too much Twin Peaks. David Lynch is a genius director. And the actors and actresses' talents are very well worth noting. But somehow the unraveling of lives, of hearts, and of secrets hits a little close to home. A combination of Donna and Laura, the surface never tells you quite as much as the past.
I've started writing again to gain control and perspective on my life, for the past few months, it seems like everything I've done to get back on track has landed me in a quandary. A closer examination of my thoughts, patterns, relationships, and dreams will have to take place. I intend on writing often, every morning if possible.
Today, though sluggish, sleep-deprived for over 48 hours, I begin my day with sit-ups, a shower, a bagel, and a trip to the local coffee house, Roadhouse Coffee Shop. Go figure.