hey, mister... wanna pick my scab?

radioactive
kitty spit making my face
break out. i have scabs.








last night i had about half an hour's worth of some of the most vivid auditory hallucinations in the history of the perception of sound, for no reason that i can think of. no odd governmentally-generated chemicals in my system, no unusually high stress level, just me waking up out of a relatively peaceful sleep on three separate occasions throughout the night to the voices of random friends and family members and continuing to hear those voices after i was very much awake and aware of the fact that no one anywhere near me was speaking, nor could they have been, since there was no one near me to begin with. i suppose it should have been frightening, but it was really only confusing. i kept wanting to get up to tell them to be quiet, but then i remembered that they weren't really there, and then i couldn't understand why i couldn't make myself stop hearing them . . . such silliness. it's amazing what a human brain stores away without telling anyone. every detail of inflection was flawless in every voice i heard. somehow sounds and sensations are all i remember of dreams. now and then an exceptionally eye-catching or relevant color will stick out (and bollocks to all those quasi-scientists who say we don't dream in color, the hell i don't, don't you tell me about my dreams), but generally the visuals are the first thing to fade. must be something about my learning processes.

so, i'm hot. i'm smelly. it's yucko. but thank you, civilization, for inventing nylon athletic mesh, and thank you summer for not being winter. sweating isn't the best thing ever, but it's a better thing than getting out of a hot shower in early february and watching the water crystallize into a frosty glaze on my skin.

i'll tell you something sad. my plants are dying. all of them. i can't tell if they're getting not enough water or too much water or an excess of direct sunlight or what, i don't know what kills bromeliads and fir trees, but my little heart is breaking for them. they're trying so hard to be brave, and i just can't save them. it's terrible. i never wanted them to have to go this way. more fertilizer? less? i'm at a loss. i always said as long as the cat was still breathing i mustn't have been doing too terribly, but nothing was dying then. *sigh*

do you love scabs? i love scabs. i love everything about them, i love watching them rise, i love the texture of their surfaces, the feeling of new skin forming underneath, and then when they're finally ripe... my GOD, it's just too much, i can't talk about it. when i was in high school my friend's boyfriend gave her a box of his scabs as a gift, and she ate them, and no one questioned it at all. first loves are so free, aren't they? wouldn't it be beautiful if we were all that sort of foolish all our lives? instead we just grow up, scabby and scarred.

i wonder if she thought his wounds tasted different from her own. i wonder how the person stuck behind me in traffic today would like the flavor of mine.