My dad said that when he had mono, he had nightmares every night.
These dreams I've been having--I wouldn't call them nightmares--are the most infuriating dreams I've ever had.  And they know exactly how to push my buttons because they are my dreams, formed in my head, where everything that's ever annoyed me lives. 
Yesterday's dream was about my sister messing something up.  I was playing a video game with her and two of my cousins, and we were playing this game that, at the end of every turn, gave or took away points based on how well you navigated a roller coaster using one button that, when you pressed it, would make the roller coaster train speed up.  You couldn't do anything to slow it down or steer, so if you went too fast coming up to a turn, your roller coaster train would fly off the tracks into the ocean, but if you went too slow around the turn, the train wouldn't make it around the curve, and it would still fall into the ocean.  I made it past the first roller coaster on my first turn, though it took three lives.  On my second turn, I was on the second level roller coaster.  At the very beginning, there was a large hill going up, and then a curve right at the top.  This coaster was taller than the first one so from that I should've realized I wouldn't need to press the button as much.  However, I pressed it right at the beginning, when the train was going up the incline, and my train sped off the curve at the top.  I thought it would fall into the ocean, but I pressed the speed button anyway, and somehow I landed on the first level roller coaster.  For that huge air and miraculous landing, the game doubled my points.  However, I was on my last life, and right after I landed it and made it around a curve, my sister punched my controller and my train flew off the tracks into the ocean and I lost 1000 points and was left with 99.  That made me so angry I was screaming and yelling and when I woke up that morning I heard myself say "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"  It was kind of unnerving, and I was so angry I had to make up a new ending to the dream while I stayed in bed, an ending that would make me less annoyed so that I wouldn't go downstairs to eat breakfast and start yelling at everybody.
Last night's dream was more like a bad chain of events that just built upon one another.  First, my dad came to pick up my sister and I at school.  This pick-up system was like the one at elementary school where the teachers stood around the circle and told the parents where to pull up and then the children would run up to their cars.  Except it was high school.  And obviously, since it was a dream, there were random people there who shouldn't've been there because they don't go to the school.  And obviously, since it was life-like, my dad was checking his email on his Blackberry while driving.  So a teacher told my dad to pull forward but slow down, because he was going too fast.  Although his window was open, he didn't seem to hear the teacher, and he put his foot on the brake too late, and rammed the back of the car in front of him.  Then we had to apologize to them and give them our number and insurance and everything and by the time we left we were pretty late and I was really hungry.  We stopped at some fast food place that I guess was a mixture between McDonald's and Taco Bell.  I think it was McDonald's with some burritos, trying to steal Taco Bell's clientele.  So anyway, we went there, and I was really annoyed because they didn't have a menu and they were rushing me and I didn't know what I wanted so I asked the lady on the computer if she could read off the menu and everyone understood what she said except for me even though it was plain English.  So I was like having a meltdown there in line at McDonald's, holding up the whole line, and then some guy walked up and gave my dad a shopping cart full of McNuggets and gave the McDonald's workers some sign that still wasn't a menu.  And to order anything, you had to say different things and it was really confusing.  Like if you wanted a sandwich, you had to ask what steaks they had.  It didn't make any sense and it was so annoying and I had money in my hand but I didn't feel like I had enough money.  The food was grossing me out, and my dad and sister had gone back to the car, so I was going to order a coke till I realized they'd left and then I was just like AHH FINE! and yelled to all the people behind me in line that they shouldn't eat there.  Which is probably what the shopping cart full of McNuggets was supposed to keep me from doing, but who wants a shopping cart full of McNuggets?  Anyway, when I was back in the car, my dad gave me some weird bean burrito thing to eat and I was trying to eat it but it tasted disgusting, so I threw it out the window and woke up angry.  I didn't even bother trying to stay in bed and amend that story.  It was too weird.
I hope these dreams stop, or at least stop me from getting as angry when I'm awake as I do when I'm asleep.

I started reading All the King's Men for AP Lit.  This is what I like about it:
"You saw the eyes bulge suddenly like that, as though something had

happened inside him, and there was that glitter. You knew something

had happened inside him, and there was that glitter.  You knew

something had happened inside him, and thought: It's coming.  It was

always that way.  There was the bulge and the glitter, and there was

the cold grip way down in the stomach as though somebody had laid

hold of something in there, in the dark which is you, with a cold

hand in a cold rubber glove.  It was like the second when you come

home late at night and see the yellow envelope of the telegram

sticking out from under your door and you lean and pick it up, but

don't open it yet, not for a second.  While you stand there in the

hall, with the envelope in your hand, you feel like there's an eye on

you, a great big eye looking straight at you from miles and dark and

through walls and houses and through your coat and vest and hide and

sees you huddled up way inside, in the dark which is you, inside

yourself, like a clammy, sad little foetus you carry around inside

yourself.  The eye knows what's in the envelope, and it is watching

you to see you when you open it and know, too.  But the clammy, sad

little foetus which is you way down in the dark which is you too

lifts up its sad little face and its eyes are blind, and it shivers

cold inside you for it doesn't want to know what is in that envelope.

 It wants to lie in the dark and not know, and be warm in its not-

knowing.  The end of man is knowledge, but there is one thing he

can't know.  He can't know whether knowledge will save him or kill

him.  He will be killed, all right, but he can't know whether he is

killed because of the knowledge which he has got or because of the

knowledge which he hasn't got and which if he had it, would save him.

 There's the cold in your stomach, but you open the envelope, you

have to open the envelope, for the end of man is to know."

This is what I don't like about it:
"Hit looks lak hit wuz good enuff fer him to live in all his life lak hit wuz, and his boy gits up thar in the cappy-tell, and hit ain't good enuff no more.  Fust thing you know and Old Man Stark'll be going to the privy in the hosue and maken 'em cook cabbige out behind the barn."

I like my new PJ pants.  I hate him.  I hate what he did to me which wasn't even as bad as what I did to the other him in some ways.  In some ways it's worse.  I think the other him gets that.  He either gets it or he was trying to make an ironic or sarcastic statement that I completely missed.  That's equally as likely.  I don't know people hate me until I know they hate me.  I can't tell until I'm told.  I never know.  I like those people with their fake trashy art like those bad poems on fictionpress I used to try to imitate.  For a while I did quite well.  Then I fell off the horse.  I'm not back on yet.  I'm a runner.  I'm somebody running along behind the pack.  The pack is full of ideas.  The pack is so caught up with their ideas and their running that they've forgotten about me, fallen behind, and they can formulate their own ideas without me.  Please don't judge me.  Not the way I judge myself.  Probably, no one even does because they don't care that damn much.  But if you don't care about yourself, what can you care about?  What point is there to doing anything?  How can there really be a spark somewhere?  Can it really be that someone cares for nothing besides stories, other people's stories and their own stories but nothing real?  They don't care for people or relationships or objects.  They do as far as they relate to the story, but after that they stop caring.  There's a point that needs to be reached.  Can't you teach people, in school, how to care?  Maybe school's what makes you stop caring.  I used to care.  I cared about everything.  Now what am I?  What is that other guy?  I don't even know because I didn't ask when I could and now he won't let me.  We're no longer facebook friends, and facebook is the symbol for real life (sometimes).  Marriage is just supposed to symbolize a long relationship.  One that lasts forever. THAT'S why I wanted it.  The word.  The label.  Because a relationship that lasts forever?  A long relationship?  That's what I was promised.  That's what I'm not left with.  That's what he left without.  What am I supposed to do now?  I still don't know.  After a while, I'm supposed to know.  I do know.  I'm supposed to get those sharp pencils back out, bring everything back into clarity.  I need those stories I used to have in my head, and the time when I didn't care about being alone, and the drawings that were so neat and interesting and pointed and I've just got to get them back, see?  I try to draw things now and I see how out of practice I must have gotten, since I can't anymore.  I can't do it.  But I know I can if I've got those sharp pencils.  That means everything.  When taking a test, trying to think, trying to draw...trying anything.  You can't do anything with a dull pencil, it's like a dull mind.  An empty one.  And that's what mine's become without all these things I had then.  It's shrunk.  Wrinkled and salty from tears and sea its been drowned in.  Someone just left it there.  And what has my body been doing in the meantime?  Something awful, no doubt.  Something destructive, always.  It's been like that forever.  Not forever, really, but as soon as it came upon itself and realized what had happened before it had been self-aware.  At first, it simply collapsed in on itself.  Waking up is not a pleasant dream.  Then it wanted to be noticed.  It wanted someone to notice the collapse and downward spiral that was occurring on the inside.  And then when they did, it got mad.  Or the body did.  The brain just died for awhile.  Slept.  And then when it came back, it was quieter.  But at the same time, it was loud without words.  It was loud with art.  With drawings, and with intelligence.  That was the smartest year.  I could think.  It was quiet enough for me to think, for the first time in a long time.  All those awful thoughts sprouting from the collapse had disappeared.  I didn't know where they'd gone, but it didn't matter.  I didn't think about it.  I just thought creatively.  There was a spark and it brought life and love and it was the kind of love that didn't need anything in return.  The kind that would leave me alone.  And it did.  I was alone, without hate towards myself or anyone else, and that was a fertile environment like no other.  I wish I could return to that and forget all the jealousy and hatred and pain and betrayal and guilt and embarrassment and annoyance and fear of the future and frozenness keeping me from action when action is all I need and I need a lot of it to keep me where I need to be.  I need to forget these things and forgive them.  Forgive myself, maybe, or forget myself.  I want it to be quiet again.  I hear the sadness all the time.  That and the pain.  I want that to stop but I don't know how to make it.  Now it sounds like I'm collapsed again.  But I'm not.  I'm not stupid and naive like I was then.  I don't want anyone to see it this time.  I'm the girl who's alright.  Always happy.  I make other people happy.  I make at least one person happy or so he says.  And that's enough.  I just need to be able to make myself happy.  Maybe if I could draw the great pictures again, bring that part of my brain out for people to see and comment on (if they're going to comment on any part of me, let it be that).  I am going to learn to love again.  First myself, and then others.  I don't love right now.  Maybe my dog.  Maybe.  God, Spay me.  That's the name of the song.  The one that goes "I fucked someone with words, broke a promise." and "I'm gone, I'm gone, I'm gone."  And then it sort of collapses on itself.  "What did I just do?"  I've said that to myself too many times.  My brain has been too many steps behind my body for too long.  I won't continue this way.  I don't like it.  It's too hard on everything.  I have a headache and all of my joints seem primed for collapse.  Everything's collapsing these days.  "The courage you found, found, found."  He loves her and in some sick way that makes me happy.  She certainly loves him like he deserves.  I can't say she doesn't.  It's just that I wanted to be the one to love him.  Now he loves her back instead of me and that's hard after being so sure of something that you'll give up anything in the whole world.  And then after you do and after he leaves you it's too much for one person to deal with but you know if you complain to other people it won't do any good at all.  You're just a fool for doing that and the last thing you need is to hand everyone verbal confirmation of how much you're a fool, even though it's likely that they assume as much anyway.  Anyone can find out these things if they know where and how to look.  If they can figure out that there's something to look for, that is.  And that's why they can't know there's anything wrong.  Not that there is.  I'm okay, you know.  It's just the being partially okay that hurts bad, because I can't let myself lose it anymore.  I wish I was completely not okay with it, so that I would do irrational things and have meltdowns and freak out and get all of that out of my system.  But I'm not like that, and so I can't.  And that, with the virus and everything makes me even more tired.  Makes going back to life even harder.  There is some unrest here.  The next move is uncertain, but it's my turn and the clock's still ticking.  He asked a few weeks ago if I was okay and at least I was honest.  I said no.  I don't care that he doesn't ask anymore.  That he doesn't have time to talk to me.  It's not important.  Nothing is.  I don't care.  I've made too many mistakes and that makes it hard to just go back to the drawing board, so to speak.  I don't want to forget what I've learned.  But have I learned?  I don't even know.  I don't know if I've taken anything from these things.  This thinking makes my head hurt worse.  I wish I was happy and that I didn't know anything.  That's what I wish sometimes.  I feel so guilty for it.  What good would that do, you know?  But I figure, if I'm not going to do anything great for humanity anyway, not going to help anyone anyhow, then there is no point in me torturing myself with knowledge when I could be blissfully happy in ignorance.  Here's to life and cynicism and headaches and feeling like the same troubles you KNOW other people have are going to put an end to you.  Here's to that.  I'll raise my water bottle to it and go read stories that other people write that aren't the books I'm supposed to be catching up in for AP Lit that I missed while I was taking a break from life that was much too exhausting to be called a break, if you were wondering.  Screw you. Goddamnit.

"When you're screwing up and nobody's saying anything to you anymore, that means they've given up on you."
-Randy Pausch

In this one study, 20% of adults admitted to spending less time having sex because they were spending more time online. 

A 72-year-old man tried to buy alcohol in a supermarket.  He was asked if he was over 21 and refused to answer the question based on its stupidity and was turned away from the store without his alcohol.

Things are turning out much better now, thanks.

I loves me some bffs. Woo.