I dreamt...

I dreamt that I had a younger sister and we were in our mid 20's. My name was Emily and her name was Jane or Janette. Something like that. Janette met this guy and she became infatuated with him. I didn't like him. They started dating. Then they had sex. The guy didn't seduce Janette, he more of convinced her. She was a virgin and she didn't want to have sex with him but he persuaded her. That was when I realized he was actually Satan. Satan fucked Janette and took her virginity. He fucked her from behind and was rough and she cried. In the morning I went into the room and took Janette in my arms. The sheets were covered in blood and she was covered in blood and she was weak and sore. I felt helpless because I didn't want her to be with Satan, but she was an adult and could make choices for herself, so I just held my little sister and she cried. Satan was becoming angry with me because I didn't want him near my sister and now he was trying to kill me. He would whisper promises of raping and mutilating and torturing me and I was running. Somewhere in this process I realized I was married and prayed to get away from Satan so I could see my husband again. My husband had glasses in my dream. Then Satan hissed something to me while chasing me and trying to club me with a pipe. He told me I was pregnant. At first I denied it because I had never had sex with my husband or anyone, but through out the dream I knew I was pregnant and now I was running not because I was trying to save my life, but because I was trying to save my baby's life.

I forced myself awake.

"I wish, I wish, with all my heart..."

Story of my life.

I set myself up for disappointment.

What's the difference between being a pessimist and a realist?

We're Just Paper Dolls

I picture us to be like paper dolls. We are three dimensional though. Our body is just made up of layers upon layers of thin paper, wrapped meticulously to form a working body. See, when we start out, we are a big thick lump of paper. So much paper, you really can't even see the form of our body. Every new life experience ends up staining the paper we are made up. Now, the word 'stain' doesn't always have to have a negative connotation. It can be a good stain. Like, the first time you went potty by yourself. That, I would consider to be a very nice stain. Then there are also the markers that we take to ourselves. The self inflicted stains. Those can be like, smoking, or studying. You're the one taking the marker to yourself. Every time you are stained, the dye seeps through every layer of your being until it gets down to the core. And every time you make a new step in life, you can peel back a layer of paper. A couple of layers will get really dirty. Some will remain pretty darn clean. And at the center of all those layers is a heart. It's a pumping, working heart. Made of paper. And on it is every single stain you have ever experienced. It pumps the ink through your body, fueling you. I think I would like to color my heart with vibrant colors. Maybe throw in a couple of designs. You have to make something you're proud of. Something, that when you die, you want to present to everyone and say, "See? Look what I've done with my life. Isn't it wonderful?" How do you want your paper heart to look like once you've peeled back the final layer?