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((8:10 a.m.))
Scarcely asleep for over an hour when the dreams began...

Night and day, I'm plagued by a lingering sadness for my Brandydog. I compulsively run about to all her places and look for her before I can stop myself. Unfortunately for me, this has finally caught up with my lack of determining dreams from reality...

It started out WAY too real, and I didn't know I was dreaming, as I sat at my computer, talking to my D.kitty, with her in my lap. I don't think he realized that she was REAL, that she was in my lap and I was holding her, petting her, feeling her breathe and live in my very arms... rather, he thought I meant lucid memories of her.

I went to bed, and Brandy took her normal place by my side. Soon, I realized that my sadness was so intense, I had been granted eternal damnation/bliss by being allowed to relive one day in her life over and over again. I was pretty excited, because I could love Brandy forever, and use some of the days to try to spend with D (in the dream, that part made more sense) and meet someone new every day (that part made sense too). I got to wake up and take her outside to potty two days in a row, sit at the computer with her in my lap and feel her aliveness, sleep with her in my arms. It wouldn't have been so bad if things didn't start to get ugly.

After that is kinda hazy...

First, our biggest dog (not Monster in the dream, but a Rottweiler) got increasingly angry with me, and eventually began doing a "trick" he was taught for the movie we were filming... he had to pretend to chew my arm. Only his jaws became increasingly ugly, and eventually I had bruised wrists that were swollen to great proportions (this part stems from my developing tendonitis and overall pain, I think). The women watching just laughed at me when I said, "But I'm a MUSICIAN!" and told me to get over it, we were making a movie. Eventually, I realized that he was really some kind of evil tentacled creature, who used to be the sister of this girl. A flashback ensued, right before our very eyes, and I learned of horrific things he'd done to her, when he was her sister and not an evil male blob/tentacled creature... he'd purposely made her run through a fire he had set, put her in scalding water, made her eat poison...

She was but a shadow by his side, forever chained to him. He had become this creature through obtaining some kind of pure evil status. That was, I learned, how I gained this eternal day with my Brandy.

Soon, Brandy sensed something evil with me too. Like the Rottweiler, she began angrily attacking me, biting my legs and trying to dismember my toes. That would've been cute, coming from a toy poodle, had she not somehow morphed into a terrifying, frothing beast (still a tiny dog...) with giant yellowed rodent-like canines. Eventually, with the tentacled beast holding me down, I was forced to sit on a couch and endure torment worse than anything I'd ever felt, and I begged for mercy, to let me go on with life... I told him I'd let Brandy go, that I understood her need to die. Then, kittens began attacking an evil kitten.

I guess this is a lot of good vs. evil. I guess it's also pretty lame to read. But while I'm writing this, it's terrifying the fuck out of me. I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid to breathe. I was sweating and shaking and desperate to just... I don't know. I don't wanna be alone right now. I don't want to sleep. But I need to. I'm sotired. I feel a little better, now that the dream is out...

*curls in a ball and attempts sleep take 2*

Current mood: Haunted and Lost

When will the torment end? Hardly a day goes by in which They don't do something that ultimately crushes my spirit even farther into this hellhole they've carved out for me... happiness quickly fades with a single phonecall... friends do little to overpower the miasma I must always return to... the end is near. Just hold out a little while longer... :-/

Beauty tinges the edges of my heart with glints of silver and gold and all that glitters and is wonderful. But there is pain, frustration, a frantic desire to escape, overshadowing the sparkling stars that collide with this dark plague. Not even the consumption of things to escape will help now. Nothing will.

Heart hurts, but not enough to die, for there are aspects of my life now that are starting to elevate my soul beyond the reach of the demons that once dragged me into hell. With introductions, I began a new chapter in The Story. Dregs of one who seemed to be the biggest part of my life are being washed away, as a kitty fills me with things I never thought I'd feel. To feel love for a creature you've never seen... how is this possible? For once, I feel like a human being, not an item on a shelf.

The things that are going on now don't seem writable. Events and emotions both are equivocal. Sobriety is difficult. Am I really sober? Everything feels so fucked up. Hard to tell if I'm awake or asleep, or if anything at all really happened today.

Living, breathing, but at the same time, not.

The first few hours of the day are the only time I feel real now.

Should I leave?

I want to just run away and never return.

Literally, run away. Start running and not stop until I can't go any farther and die of exhaustion.

What is wrong with me?

Time to hide from life...


Numb. Stomachsick. Terrorized.

These components make up currentalysQn.

It feels slightly like a smoky trip, with horrible pangs of nostalgia. But the nostalgia at the moment is coated with desolation, fear, the anxiety components I used to wake from when I had the nightmares. A desire to regress, to be the child I was in highschool... addictions, carelessness, rampant boichasing and random interludes of suicide attempts... it's nogood.

I miss the weeks of drunkenness, where I'd consume things I shouldn't and sleep forever... and even the times when I'd lay in my bed and try to just die.


Brandyemotions have transformed into a sickfeeling in my stomach. A rock, a lump. No more tears, no more pain. Just detached emotions for the dog I loved so much. Why? What is wrong with me?

That I could cry over Him for half a year or more, write a hundred thousand songs, mutilate, develop more addictions, regress into past habits, be damaged so bad.

And the one who was there from the beginning is gone and I can't cry anymore.


Musicideas run intense in my mind, course through my veins like hot, rushing blood on a good stone. Doubt looms over, like the darkest stormcloud, though. Will I spend years chasing an unfulfillable dream?

The Owners of the Alysqn are doubtful. They've always seemed so notconfident of my success. To change my lifecourse, to choose something other than what I've always dreamed of, that's what they think I should do.

Dread, hopelessness, frustration. Will it ever end?

Kill me now. It's over, and the orange soda is going to either make me or break me.

While at school yesterday, my sweet puppy had the last siezure of her life. Mother left her outside, alive but sad, and came home to nodog... I don't know if it could've been helped, but I can't stop thinking about what I lectured mom on so many times that morning... "DON'T LEAVE BRANDY ALONE! SHE FREAKS OUT!" And, of course, she left her alone outside. The two things I told her not to do (she was weak, I was afraid she'd fall in the pool). I can't think. I'm numb. Tears flowed heavily for a while, and then the robotic persona of an alysQn kicked into gear. Sleep came, and dreams of my two lost dogs (Rascal as well) played out in my mind. I woke up to the (imagined) sound of Rascal coming in my room, panting, stinking breath filling my nose with its stanky smell. And then more disembodiment, more feeling detached and feelingless. Rock in stomach. Forced consumption of liquids doesn't help much either.

I went downstairs and the numbness turned to pain once more. I wanted to get her toys, because she would hate it if anyone but her played with them. Walking past her now open, empty room, I felt my legs give way, and it was all I could do to walk. The feeling intensified when I got Hippo and Giraffe. They're on a shelf now, cuddling my big Buttercup statue.

D told me about his cat, Sweet Pea. It's so great to have him to talk to... he's been through it, only even moreso, because he lay next to her and watched her die. I cried so hard when he told me the story. But at least she didn't die alone. She died with just as much love as she lived with, and that's something very special, I think. I wish Brandy and Rascal hadn't died alone, although I don't think I would've been able to handle being with them during their last moments...

Can't write, can't think... juries will suck, too numb to move...

Sad and blue...

Here I am, sitting here at 1:42 a.m., typing 1/100000000 of my usual 110/115 wpm, because my poor puppy is sleeping on my left arm. She's alive, yes, and not convulsing, or foaming, or anything else terrible, but her medication has transformed her, overnight, into a bipolar, neurotic pooch.

I came home after several hours of fighting tears in order to practice and then rehearse w/Ean-Ju (my accompanist) expecting the worst. I walked into the house and couldn't say a word to my dad... and then she walked in the kitchen. Listelss and shuffling like the saddest thing you'd ever seen, she was very much alive. In shock, all I could do was whisper her name and carry her upstairs to my room. When I got there, I cried, shook, held her for a long time. Things are stable now.

She can't go downstairs. Or upstairs. She can't jump, or play. My dog's medication makes her obsessively eat, and it really smells like she's going to crap all over my lap anytime now. I love her, but this is going to be a difficult time. The medication makes her go between running around frantically eating and drinking and begging to go outside (much like after her third siezure Tuesday... she began running around, then climbed on the windowsill and tried to press through the window), and sleeping soundly on the floor. They tried leaving her in a dog carrier, because she wouldn't stay in her room, and she cried just as hard, and tried to break out. She's become just like me... just wants to be held and never let go. Old Brandy would never sleep in my lap this soundly. Now, she refuses to do anything but lay in my arms. Being alone has become her biggest fear. I understand why. I wish I could help her... it breaks my heart to see her like this. But at least no more siezures. I'll love her forever, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she's ok. I guess I'll be sleeping on the floor by her pillow tonight...

Sadly, I'm beginning to be really GLAD that a certain jealous girlfriend pushed me over the edge and made me stop talking to the boy of paper. I wrote in Devin's card during my trip, "But the smoldering tones of paper boys hurt my heart. Why?" That's just it. WHY? Had we still been talking, and I didn't know Devin, I would be having such a hard time getting through this. He was so cynical, always telling me the "truth", no matter how pessimistic and horrible it was, and no matter how much he knew it'd upset me. I can't wait to go to Seattle. It WILL happen. I just wish I hadn't found the best guy ever in such a far away place... :-/

In other news, I have my prejury at 2:30 p.m. today, and my jury the next day at 3:40 p.m. To top things off, I don't know when my piano final is, what's on it, or how to do anything for my Theory final. This is going to be a rough week... but Mr. Seattle has asked me to stay sober, and I can't say no to him... thank God. Last thing I need is to regress to addiction and habits. Twiggy and I have planned her prom night, since she's in the same position I'd be in, if not for Greg last year... no one to go with, everyone off in their own groups. So we're gonna dress up, take pics at the park, go to McDonald's and other strange places for formals, then take an overnight trip to Space ;-) Brandy is breathing hard. It's scaring me. Must go.

Loss of paperbooks has led me on a search for an online journal, but there is none to be found. Back to the roots---html. Perhaps with a journal, along with writing more "fucking looney tunes" lyrics, I can curb some of my less desirable habits, like ventilation of the appendages...

Brandy had another siezure today. That makes two. Greg's stupid words, "That means it's probably going to die. It's old, it happens," keep running through my head. The insensitivity of those remarks... maybe he had no idea when he said it to me, but, no matter how true he insists his statement is, it definitely made me despise him just a bit, and certainly didn't help paranoia. Even with Diane assuring us that poodles quite often have siezures on a regular basis. I don't know. Looking at her tiny fraility, even as she now jumps on me and begs for attention, I'm terrified at the thought of losing another baby...

I took a long trip in the wee hours of Sunday morning, after a nice long cartrip in a seemingly smoke-filled, mellow den with two coolpeople... it was supernice, and I made lots of new pictures and writings, many for an online companion I've been getting to know. Still recovering from the hangover. Sleep comes every few hours, and is irrepressible. As for the online friend, he is definitely changing my life. He's helping me see things I never thought I'd see... although I'm not completely cured, as I saw during my trip, when I called a certain ex boi and heard his voice for the first time in weeks, sending me into a convulsing mass of waterflow and sogginess as I called people at 3:30 a.m. But this friend is the most amazing person ever, and I'm sure it won't be long till I've fully recovered from my past. An artistic god, he has it all... from his music to his fantastic imagery, and everything imaginable in between (such as being absolutely beautiful), he's a dream come true, just in those aspects. Plus, he treats me better than anyone's ever treated me in my life... and I've never even met him in person! He says nicethings, and is totally adorable (*gush gush gloosh melting like an icecube on a car in Houston*), which are definitely things I'm not really used to... well, these kinds of nicethings (I certainly haven't heard any nondrunk compadre say them for a few years...). We seem to have a strong connection, and have a whole lot in common, and I'm more than intent now on seeing him in the flesh sometime really soon. *take note, he is best friends with a guy from school that I know really well... so no meeting a potential psycho here... well, the kind that most would fear, at least ;-P He's gotten me into things I've never really thought about before, like filmscore music. Tim Burton has always been a god to me, but Danny Elfman, the guy that composed music for all but one of his films, was never poignant in my mind... until now. I have a new god now... Elfman! :) The stuff that happens between the onlinegod and me is sometimes is kinda strange... like last night, when he got home from work, I imed him a bat and started talking about them, and it turns out he'd just put on the Batman soundtrack. Coincidence? Maybe... he's certainly becoming a Perfect Drug...

Hmm. We also got a new dog. A Monsterdog. Mother keeps accidentally calling him Rascal, which is not exactly a happy thing... I still cry thinking about her. And this dog is very much like her, in personality, his shaggy face, and overall form, only twice as big. The boi used to make fun of me for crying when she died and hiding, and for being sad, and for the tears that came when he'd mention her, trying to make fun of her and telling me his nicknames for her that were more than cruel to my stillbroken heart... but, despite the pain, I'm still very glad that Monster has come to us. He needed a home, just as Rascal had, and it's good that he has one now. As well, Megs needs a friend. No one can ever replace the amazing dog Rascal was, but Monster can certainly fill the void in our hearts... we have a full house again. It's kinda nice. But now the tears are coming once more, remembering my Rascaldog.


(two hours later)
Brandy just had her third siezure of the day. It lasted almost 4 minutes. I am currently trying to keep her from running about. This has to have been one of the most horrible things I've ever seen, besides the day Rascal died... convulsing, foaming at the mouth, bubbles coming from her tiny jaws, heavy breath with a crackling, rasping wheeze, which developed a heartbreaking whine as she struggled to stand... my cut-free spree is definitely over. Can't take it. She is now rapidly walking all over the house. When she was done convulsing (mother had to hold her, which was a hundred thousand times worse than just watching), Brandy began frantically running about, and was soon smashing herself through the venitian blinds at the window to the backyard. She didn't want to go out though. Insanity... it reminded me of insanity. And how Po was after the war, when he'd wake up terrified at the sound of a train. Brandy can't stop moving. She has to be continually walking now. What's going on with my little dog? Mother's on the phone with the vet. I think they asked her if we want to just let her die. Please don't let her die. Lost. Scared. Cold. The flimsy steel of the dull, dirty razor brings much comfort. Frightening.

(11:30 p.m.)
I just took Brandy to the emergency room. Mother went in the bathroom to pee and refill Brandy's thermos of water, and Brandy had a siezure in my arms. She was frothing from her fragile mandibles, and managed to pee all over us again. Body twisting in unnatural ways, I couldn't do anything but hold her, crying and screaming her name frantcially. I was alone for a long time. Mother finally came out as a woman came from the back to take her from me. A little girl who had been oohing and ahhing our pooch was probably weirded out a lot. But I don't care. I lay on the bench in the vet's office for an hour. Brandy's there now. Waiting.

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