Chipper

I was chipper for most of today. Yesterday night I was awful, really heartbroken and such. Today, I couldn't have cared less. I hung out around him and Sadie and felt fine. I felt like myself again. It was fantastic. Unfortunately, I'm not doing so well right now, but so it goes.
It's gotten to the point where I really do type faster than I write, but there is definitely something captured in manually creating the shapes of the letters that simply cannot be recreated in typing. Still, there are certain ways in which typing allows for a much freer flow of words, especially when you aren't intending for anyone else to see what you are writing. Maybe I'll show all this to someone someday, but for now, I really like knowing that I'm not doing this for anyone but myself. It also is helping me translate my thoughts to words with greater ease. I mean, by sentences are actually beginning to resemble the structure of my thoughts. Maybe it doesn't have the poetry of other writing, but it sounds like me, and I like that. Then again, what "me" sounds like probably varies a lot depending on the person I'm talking with and the subject material, but I think this looks something like my actual inner narrative, in that if I actually slow my thoughts a little, my fingers are fast enough to type a thought as I am having it. This is new. I've never been able to write at the speed of thought before.
I didn't do my homework. I didn't do anything, really. Nothing worthwhile.
My dreams have been odd lately. More lucid at times, and I remember them more clearly. Two nights ago I had a horror dream á la Matt Chen. A set of siblings whose parents were dead went camping at this lake. One by one, there were all killed by something in the lake. A ghost-like something would pass through them, drawing them towards the water. They each died a different way, and they took on some pose of the sibling-death before their's before their own demise. Each one died differently, and each death was chilling in some way. Once they were all dead, it was revealed that thing in the lake was their parents. They'd killed their own children to reunite the family. It was sick. Then they were in this great room, with high ceilings and windows. Their mother was speaking to them, and one of the siblings accidentally knocked a window open, allowing a small flock of Red-Wing Black Birds the escape. The mother was furious, she berated them, "You idiots! Now the secret is out. They will tell God. The condition for such alternate realities as this to exist is that God does not know. God cannot know."
Which is odd and creepy.
Then comes a sequence of family time, though all I remember is the mother talking to one of the daughters (who, come to think of it, looked vaguely like me, though I was a third party observer in this dream) in a mirror, about school and stuff. It was actually kind of sweet.
Anyway, then people come looking for them, and they have to fool them into thinking that they're still alive. I don't remember whether or not these people are killed as well.
Last night I dreamed that I was way, way up in the evening sky, airplane-level high. The world was a mesh of dark purples and blues, and there were stars out. I was scared of how high I was at first, but then I simply let myself fall, my limbs spread eagle, my face towards the earth. I simply let myself fall, knew that I could trust myself to it. It was one of the freest sensations I've known. Eventually, I conjured up a pack and parachuted down (I did mention a certain level of lucidity, I believe.) At the end though, there were two people, one crashed, the other held the corpse in their arms, and wailing tumbled down, down a hill, until they hit a fence and their death. They must have been in love. I don't remember, exactly. What I do know is that it was gut-wrenchingly tragic, tragic in the way that makes you fold in on yourself. I looked on what happened, horrified and distraught, and I knew that I had to remember what had happened, that this was the most important thing in the world. I went to tell somebody in the dream about my dream, but they made it so I couldn't talk. I still don't remember what happened perfectly, and this bothers me, because I know it mattered. Whether it matters in this world, I don't know, but then and there I know that it really, truly mattered. How often do I find things in this world that really matter?
I must try to forget as little as possible.