dontpooyourself

"I miss that place behind my house where I hiked and climbed and played, where I ditched this noisy century or just hid out from the decade. M-I homes thought it could stand to be updated, forced it all into a grid until it looked like the funny pages. With every trace of life, it seems, confined within a frame, the faces move from day to day but the strips all look the same. And the punchlines are resoundingly unfunny for those trapped in this architecture of easy money. And it feels like this could all come to no good. The kids who populate these culdesacs will never know what stood beneath those cookie cutter houses: fields and streams and woods. They'll sit in cars and wait for mom to drive them out of this boring neighborhood."

I've been having some very demented dreams lately. Full scale zombie outbreaks. Zombie survivors turning into reavers (ala Firefly/Serenity), and chasing me down despite machete's beingfirmly lodged in their faces. Coworkers breaking into my house and shooting themselves in the head. I didn't really used to remember my dreams, maybe like half a dozen a year or so would stay in my mind after I woke up. If this is what my mind's been concocting I wish I didn't remember it. I wonder what changed?

I wish I owned a Lexus. That way I could get away with driving like a fucking retard. I guess when you can afford one you don't care about it as much...