Friday, February 28, 2014

Excerpt from an old journal entry

October 10, 2009
The first thing I would like known about me is that I do not pronounce the word "pen" the same way I pronounce "pin." Also, I hate neon orange gel pens. Yellow and green are atrocious too, but the orange ones are the metaphorical leaders of the gang, and so I hate them the most. They're abusive and sadistic. Also, they kick puppies. I've seen it. Therefore, I propose all forms of discrimination and persecution be redirected toward neon orange gel pens as well as their manufacturers and distributors.

Octopuses are really funny-looking. I bet being octopused to death would be really painful. Seriously, how bad would it hurt to have an octopus latched onto your face, gouging your eyes out with its beak? Hey, that's like something from an Alien movie, minus the part where the babies burst out of your chest and kill you. Oh yeah, and kill everyone else, but you wouldn't really care, because you would be dead.

Friday, February 7, 2014


I had this really weird dream.

My dad took me to a horse farm and bought me a horse. It was a dark horse with darker spots--I think he was part appaloosa. This horse was extremely cranky, and he had scars all over because apparently he had been in a fight with a bull. His previous owner hadn't given him a lot of one-on-one time. I was given to understand that he wasn't really mean, neglectful, or abusive, but he was the kind of guy who saw his horses (and he had a lot of them) as tools instead of living things that need attention. Ironically, he had named this horse Pet.

I got to ride Pet around and groom him and bond with him, and then we left to go do something else for a while. But I was so excited about Pet that I couldn't wait to go back and see him again, so we went back so I could spend more time with him. We went up to his stall in the barn where he was living, and Pet wasn't there. Instead, there was a big, dark, healthy-looking thoroughbred.

I looked in all the other stalls, but Pet wasn't there either. We went back to the desk (because apparently this barn had one) and said, "Hey, where's Pet?"

The lady said, "Right there in his stall." She showed us how the horse in Pet's stall had a fine bronze tag on his harness that said "PET" in big engraved block letters.

"But that's not Pet," I said. "You put the name on the wrong horse."

"Oh," said the lady. "How embarrassing. Well, let me go get Pet for you, then." So she left and brought out another horse. It was a fine, beautiful horse with a spirited step, possibly an Andalusian. But that wasn't Pet either. So she went back out to the fields where there were dozens of horses milling about, and she brought back horse after horse. None of them were Pet.

Finally, I asked if I could go look. We wandered through field after field and saw tons of horses. We returned to the barn and checked every single stall, then checked the fields again. I was told I might as well just pick a different horse--I could have any one I wanted. Besides, they were all stronger, healthier, better-adjusted, and probably better-trained horses than Pet was.

I don't remember whether I did eventually pick a different horse. If I did, I certainly don't remember anything about what kind of horse I picked. All I remember is that we never did find Pet.