So Seth and I sat around and watched the pilot + the first three episodes of Dead Like Me season 1. And yeah, I know it's just a TV show and all, but it really got me thinking. I don't know why, I'm just weird, I guess, but I tend to think about that kind of stuff often-enough anyways. It just kind of made me think about it in a more... Realistic way, I suppose. I don't know. We were watching it, and it just seems like the explanations they have for everything just make a lot more sense to me than everything else we "know" about life and death. Call me crazy, but I'd jump right on being a reaper; seems like it would probably give me some kind of validation, at least a broader sense of it than what I'm getting by just being here.

But yeah. Dylan just called asking what the best way to break into my house was. I don't think too many people really know that much about me, but if you know me a little, you'd know that I told him without any hesitation. Now, if you don't know me that well, then I'll tell you why. And trust me, if you even have a vague interest in my life, then reading this will either make, or break any relationship you could have with me.

About a year and two months ago, my life became the hell that it is now and has been since. And I mean that in the most well-feeling, gooey-like-a-warm-marshmallow kind of way I can. But yeah, my life was turned upside down last year because I was disowned and banned from my sprawling 7-acre, 2-story, 5 bedroom-2 1/2 bath house in the country for a week because of my mother's abandonment issues wreaking hell on my little sister and I. She then told me she was leaving the state, and the decaying house (and me), to move to Wisconsin with her new "boyfriend," not quite 3 months fresh from a divorce on an 18-year marriage with four children, aged 4 (little sister) to 18 (me, at the time); thank gods I had already sent my little sister back to California to live with our brothers, and her dad, and the rest of our family. Oh, and my mother mentioned finally that I was adopted. Did I call Jerry Springer, I don't remember? Anyways, after that I moved to stay with a very unstable "friend" and her family just until this past January before she stole much from my abandoned home and then kicked me out. I couch-hopped for a weekend before another friend of mine and her father allowed me to stay at their place until I again had to leave in the middle of April, just a month and a half shy of graduating high school. I didn't get to, because I had to go to California and couch-hop (again) between my uncle's house, my grandparents' home, and several friends' houses. I was stalked and nearly raped by an ex boyfriend during this time, and just after that, I was shipped-off to live with my mom and her boyfriend in Wisconsin. I'll save the details but let's just assume that the time spent there (from May 5th, the day after my birthday, to the 31st of August) was quite possibly one of the worst experiences of my life.

So here I am, living at Seth's house with him, his parents, and his dog. I still feel awkward. Like I don't quite belong or fit in. I'm like the water-spotted puzzle piece that kind of makes the finished picture look like shit if it's pushed into place with all the other pieces. So I'm not really sure what to do about that, but it's really interesting to note that I've been thinking every day was going to kill me since the day this all started, but I keep pushing through it to wake up in the morning and say the same exact thing to myself while I'm standing at the bathroom mirror practicing my smile. It's a little food for thought.

Sorry guys. This is the last journal entry I'll put you through for a while.