I am *very* happy about that.
My bed has officially died.
Which means I'm going to be a floor/couch sleeper from this point on...
and I don't really care.
Sean still isn't awake and Tim is playing the 'oh no, you have to track me down in order to get information' game, so I had to talk to Mike. He actually put on that "I'm concerned for you" voice and asked how I was doing.
it's not really my tragedy, is it?
Until they try to blame me, it's not my fault and nothing that could have been prevented
I hope he lives... but only if he keeps up with the meds and tries to fucking have a life.
if not... well... then there isn't much point in him living, is there?
had a nightmare about going to Bristow and going in to visit Jason and walking into his basement apartment to find him rotting, bloated, bug infested, and starting to liquifey on his bed... head nearly ripped off from the ligature of plastic bag around his face that had, thankfully, been too fogged from the condensation of putrification for me to see his features.
he was mostly a tight greenish blue all over..spots of black starting.
carpet beneath the bed already ruined.
I know I fucked myself over by allowing myself to get a very very clear mental image of what rotting corpses look like....
But I can't help but feel that I don't deserve dreams like these.