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I'm thinking I might need to look into either a gun to protect myself, or a fuckload of Ambien.

This is probably why I shouldn't be allowed to drink heavily and get on the internet.

Screw this. Tink, I'll be back to work on Monday. I need to do some crap with my hands. Take my mind off of all this hell and purgatory crap.

( Cut for large image )

So Purgatory. It's a thing.

Me taking the next few days off of work? Yeah, that's a thing related to Purgatory being a thing.

I feel like I just got back from the sandbox all over again. Swear to god if I have to quit my job over this crap in my head...

I don't think I was ever prepared to have this much blood on my hands and now I can't get it off. I get that I did what I had to do, but I don't want to know what I did to end up there in the first place.

The really screwed up part is that I know hell is coming. At some point whatever this thing I am when I sleep is, the one who ends up with hand prints branded on his arm and fights his way for a year in that place...he goes to hell.

I need some really good reasons not to hop in my car and just drive as far away from everyone I care about as possible, because right now staying near anyone seems like the worst idea ever.

This is cheaper than therapy, right?

So the dreams are ... I mean, some of us get qualities from the dreams - powers or our looks change or stuff like that. In my dreams, the high priest of Hell wants me. And I don't mean a cute little guy with a pitchfork.

( Trigger warnings for gore, reference to suicide. )

I wonder sometimes if instead of changing somehow, I'll get my stalker. Like ... I'm not a paranoid person, I'm a damn cop, but I keep looking over my shoulder all the time. Waiting for the toll of a church bell, waiting for the walls to crack open and for him to show up in his leather butcher's apron, saying my name. His voice is ... beautiful in its way, just like him. Symmetry fighting against chaos -

I should sleep. Anyone have any tips on how to sleep even though you don't want to?

Getting' real sick of these mind screwing moments. Real, real sick.

Pretty sure right now is a great time to go get as drunk as possible. Anyone with me?

I have been told by the junior officers that this is the place to meet new people. I have been also told by the same junior officers that I should do such things.

The name is Auron, chief of police in Irvine. Pleased to meet you.

In my dreams I make a demon human for a moment - just a moment - long enough to escape Hell. And apparently he never forgets it. Twenty years have passed in my dreams, because when I first started having them, dream Me looked like how I did when I was a teenager but now she looks like me and a demon told me that he's still looking for me.

Elliot Spencer still wants me in my dreams and there's nothing I can do but try to fight back until he gets me. It's bad enough I'm fighting shit when I'm awake, but now when I sleep I have to fight too. Has anyone thought of making a Nightmare Before Elm Street type pill that prevents us from dreaming?

I'm sorry, I have to complain a little. What kind of special moron goes out with a coroner, and then declares the date "ruined" when I talk about a particularly interesting autopsy in the vaguest terms possible? I didn't use any medical terminology, I didn't even say the word "blood", for Christ's sake.

I'm starting to think the only people I should date are other doctors, morticians and cops. Especially cops. I mean, if the sex gets boring, we can always go to a motel and give each other attitude.

I passed the test. I'm going to be a police officer. I start on Monday.

Thanks to everyone who helped me study or was just there for me in general. I appreciate it.

I grew up in Portland, Maine, but somehow, I never became aware of the North American Wife Carrying Competition that was annually held in Newry, about two hours away. Apparently a couple wins the wife's weight in beer, and five times her weight in cash.

I do accept that that's a substantial weight of cash. It might be the only sport I can see a point in, though I'm not sure I'd try it myself. ... I mean, I have no wife, but still.

Starting to think this city should have just come with a warning sign. "FUCKING BOLLOCKS AND SHIT: DON'T ENTER."

It's bad enough to be lectured about smoking by trees, but what the bloody fuck is this shit, now? Excuse me while I stay in my flat and try finding the bottom of this bottle.

I have officially had it with my dreams.

I wore my crazy dream-aunt's skin to fool a demon and make out with him long enough to kill him. Seriously. Head to toe wearing someone's entire body skin and it was gross and goopy and did I mention giving a demon tongue?

I'm getting very tired of the police. Detectives who think they're stepped off the set of The Bill. They try to pressure me, push me, even lightly threaten me....and it never works.

Being a lawyer means I put my own feelings or prejudices to bed: it doesn't matter if they're a serial killer or a little girl, they will get the same treatment....depending on what they'll respond to. With children, you either have to coddle them or get aggressive. They're not overly complicated. Of course, criminals themselves are rarely complicated.

For all the detectives, police officers and fat sweaty security guards out there: please, try and be professional.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too old for the club scene.

More dreams. Zombies living at the airport. Lots of us. Have friends, got married. Zombie weddings are strange.

Guess zombies eat brains to see memories? Dreamt I had the memories of some guy. Weird.

Feeling really ... Thinking just fine. Hard to connect thoughts to words though. Easier to just sit here and do nothing.

Does it seem extremely prideful of me to think I might actually be able to do a better criminal profile than the fool on this television show? I mean, I was a policeman in my dreams, and worked in a crime lab, but I didn't finish graduate school. I don't recall any profiling experience in my dreams. And even if I did, well. They're still dreams.

It just seems ridiculous. ( tw: discussion of criminology and murder/postmortem gore ) Overkill requires personalization and deep rage - how can someone have that deep a rage against someone they've just met?

Maybe I should just stop watching true crime shows.

(ooc: trigger warning: discussion of violence & sexual assault in comments)

I've been given the go ahead to apply for the police academy. I have a lot of things to read for all the exams.

I'm actually feeling much better. Being a waitress is just not my thing.

I'll take all well wishes, I need them.

Any police types here know the punishment for home invasion? My home was broken into and I want to know if it would be worth pressing charges.


[Filtered to Zelda]
Gonna be later to picking you up than usual for the next couple days. Sorry. I'll try to get everything worked out as soon as possible so this doesn't affect you for longer than it needs to.


[Filtered to Giles Babcock]
I am in desperate need of a drink, and soon. I'm staying at the Hyrule Hotel at [address]. Wanna come raid the bar with me?

This is the best day of my rotten life. I found this in a bin.

Earlier this week, I myself experienced the most frightening dreams. So unsettling in fact that it's taken me this long to gather my thoughts together and discuss them. But I know that it is better to let something painful out into the open than to hold it in, and so I'll do my best to share them with you.

Oh my God, we cornered a kid -

In my dreams, I -

Woke up this morning and got sick. Still feeling pretty gross, actually. I don't even have an appetite and thinking of eating makes my stomach feel woozy all over again.

And I'm so tired, but I don't want to go back to sleep.

Urgh.


((ooc: Warning - Possible talk of child death in comments.))

Anyone else want to punch their dream selves in the face for being stupid? Seriously, dream me runs into Hell on purpose. Anyone else would go "oh, is that a doorway to Hell? No thank you!" but dream me just sort of heads on in.

She also has really bad 80s hair, but real me had that too. Can't fault her for that.

I don't think I'm going to be getting back to sleep after a dream like that. I've never had one quite so...disturbing before.

I think I'm gonna start fighting.

Like, as a hobby. Not just picking fights in parking lots or whatever. Not illegal, neither, like fight club. I mean like a hobby thing, a friend recommended it to me. Just not sure if it isn't an accident waiting to happen...

I wonder if I shouldn't go see a therapist for my dreams. I mean, I wouldn't have to tell them about how they're ... too real, right? and how I have the box and I swear it's calling to me

Holy shit.

I'm engaged. And it's not even April Fool's.

I was born in the wrong damn century. I'd feel right at home on a fucking battlefield somewhere, like in Highlander.

So I beat up some bastard in a bar, get dumped in jail, bail out and that's it. Hell, if that guy couldn't handle himself, he shouldn't have been running his mouth like he was. I was within my American rights.

Would anyone like to help me move? I have a place, I just need some help.

I need to get my things out of my ex-boyfriends place. I want to do it when he won't be there, and that means very quickly and relatively quietly. If he comes home and sees me moving out, he won't be happy.

I have a restraining order against him, but I don't know if he'll listen to it.

Ladies in the workplace: this little trick really works. Men are remarkably easy. They won't even question why your tampons are in the fridge.

I just woke up and now I'm sitting in the kitchen. She's sitting here with me, even as I write this. She is talking away, talk-talk-talk and eating all that cigarette smoke. The fat lady squeezed into that kitchen chair with her...cigaretes and her talk. And I want to take a knife to her. I dreamed about so much last night. Was it last night? Just last night? Feels like forever. It feels like I've been dreaming the same dreams forever.

It feels
It feels like my mind is breaking. I was so hungry, in my dreams. I needed to eat, and drink and rip and chew and tear and take millions into me. Millions. Me and my brothers, and my...and my Jude, my Jude Cripp, because he dreams the dream so well. He did horrible things but he dreams so well. He is a son of Babcock.

What was her name? Mother of Babcock? I didn't dream it. I just dreamed her and she's still right here.

I was more than Babcock. But I'm still Babcock. I am Babcock. I am Morrison-Chavez-Baffes-Turrell-Winston-Sosa-Echols-Lambright-Martinez-Reinhardt-Carter. My brothers. Brothers of Babcock.

I don't understand any of this. I just know my dreams are true. I'm not that dumb, I'm not.

I wish she would shut up.

Guess who's got two thumbs and got a promotion?

... me. And everyone else who got a promotion, in theory. Unless they lost a thumb somewhere, in which case, I'm sorry.

The zombie saga continues. I don't know what sort of strange zombie-ism is going on in my dreams, but it's definitely not like what I'm used to. It's like zombies in whatever world this is aren't completely devoid of mental process? Who even knows.

In any case, the new developments I've discovered are: like us, zombies apparently have that little voice that tells you what's good or not. This voice is more like a flesh-crazed brute than, you know, a normal conscience, but it's there. Also zombies can't actually eat anything but people? I tried eating a deer. It didn't go so well.

Dream-me is literally the worst zombie ever.

I keep getting naked and I swear it isn't my plan. How am I getting home? Someone give me advice or pick me up. I'm trapped in the bathroom of KFC.

I don't even know how this happened. I'm just naked. Completely. And most people don't look kindly on it.

Sometimes it takes every inch of self-control not to throw certain....bar-goers out on their ass. Or into traffic. I hate those guys. The guys who think they're the life of the fucking party when really they're just making a mess for people to clean up. I got limits, though. If those frat boys turn up and start making those comments my employer again, I'm gonna have something to say. Good lady, my boss. I owe her. Same goes for her big guy.

Damn frat boys, though. Never liked their type.

Well today's game was... interesting, to say the least. I got smashed in the nose, which hurt like hell (someone got a video of me after the game, as you can see).I'll probably have a black eye for a few days, but it was worth it because we ended up winning the game.

We didn't win anything, per se, as it's all in fun. But we did keep score this time and my team was the one with the most points.

Besides, it'll be a fun story to tell.

Finally broke down and picked myself up a flat screen TV; guy at the store somehow conned me into a Blu-Ray player. There was a discount on it when I got the TV; not that I ever intend to buy a damn blu-ray disc. Most films today suck horrifically.

What I do need is a new VCR, mine's been shot for awhile now and apparently no one sells them anymore. But I've got some old movies I prefer to watch, and they're only on VHS.

Fuck it, I'm going to have a cigar and a whiskey-coke on the balcony, and then probably pop off to bed.

Great. The one thing I don't want to happen does. Of course. And I don't mean the singing.

Anybody know of a place with really good safe deposit boxes?

( Private to Giles. )

If I never have to hear a bunch of grown men singing about doughnuts, it'll be too soon. I don't get paid enough for this. I've just been trying not to talk.

When I tell people that unless they seriously re-evaluate their priorities on the spot, or one of us is heading to jail and one of us to the E.R, they've got to learn that I'm not actually fucking around.

Yeah, I get we're getting coded a whole fucking lot lately, and it's probably gotten around through whatever channels the disgusting douchebag regulars follow, but it still doesn't mean I'm putting up with any of their shit when it gets dangerous or into disrespectful territory. Put your hands on a girl or guy who doesn't want it in my club and your ass is getting booted out I don't give a fuck how much you've sunk into the bar. Put your hands on a guy or girl who doesn't want it in my club and start shit with me when I tell you you're leaving and you're not only getting booted out, your ass is getting kicked.

Waiting around for me until close in the lot across across the street's really cute too if you're pissed but want to avoid part two by jumping me because it usually doesn't work. I'm not gonna say NEVER since I'm not into the tempting fate, but you can be pretty sure I'm still going to kick your ass, and unlike you, I don't have to pull a knife to do it, and can knock it out of your hand before you're really close enough no matter what your deranged, drunken, idiotic ass is thinking.

Bottom line here is don't fuck with people, if you do, you'll have to fuck with me and I'm a little better at the game of fucking up than ninety percent of you assholes who come into this place as sketchy assed as it is and think you're gonna get somewhere. No matter what a dive we are, there's some little playground rules that apply here and you can follow them or get out. Or, like last night, I get to punch you out while singing that song from West Side Story? What the ever loving FUCK?

Hey, network, I'm Bahorel and I get to beat up assholes for a living. What the hell do all of you do?

There's a dog in the apartment.

Kirsty, why is there a dog in the apartment?

The dog in the apartment keeps looking at me.

I...seem to have accepted an invitation to duel with Courfeyrac. Why have I accepted an invitation to duel with Courfeyrac? Is dueling still illegal? Why am I about to do this while I still feel vaguely shitty? What in hell has my life BECOME exactly?

...I remain...confused.

I lied. My dreams are terrifying me and I hate them.

I'm never sleeping again. Even having Giles here isn't helping me sleep better.

Things have really started picking up at work, which is wonderful. They've given me a much busier beat and my own byline.

Every day seems a little better than the last, which I'm very grateful for. I hope everyone else is enjoying the same run of luck.

I love letters from alumni associations. Not only do they usually get the Latin incorrect (a single alumni is an alumnus, people) but they're so optimistic about my ability to donate.

I haven't even finished off the loans yet, for Pete's sake.

I know some people on here are going through some hard times. I just closed a case that was exhausting to get through. So yeah, sometimes life is bleak and shitty and terrifying.

So here's some dogs sneezing. It helps, promise.

I had dreams again. People write about this shit on here all the time, so I guess I should too. Be social.

I was on Death Row for taking a knife to my mother's throat. And I was...scared, I guess. I didn't want to die. I don't want to die now. Not ever. That end date was coming so close, that damn needle ready for my arm and pump me full of poison. How could they do that? How could they think of doing that to me? Yeah, I killed my mother and I feel bad about it. But I don't have to die for that, right?

And then Project Noah. They strapped me down, and I couldn't move, and there were other needles. Not full of poison, full of something else. It was insane, and I was out of my straps in two seconds and I was going right through people. Just...picking them up and splitting them in half. It was like my hands were knives, just tearing through skin and feeling all the blood rush over me and I had this huge big grin on my fucking face. It was...it was pretty fucking good.

So there's a good reason for all this shit, right?

So. Finally had one of those dreams everyone's having.

I was dead. And by dead, I mean undead, but dream-me definitely didn't realize that I was lying in the wake of a zombie plan crash.

So, you know, that was fun.

PS. Learning how to walk as a zombie is painful. And not because it hurts, but because it takes, apparently, hours.