So, I probably just had the scariest dream of my life.

I guess the schools around my county were all offering a trip to Europe (I'm not sure about all those details, that part is kind of fuzzy).  My mom and my cousins were chaperoning.

My friends and I visited this mall because suddenly they were super interested in fashion(?).  Right next to the mall was some place that was having a party.  A bunch of European celebrities and models were there.  We made a few friends and had fun.

The next thing I remember is being attacked by some green alien-like thing that was a cross between Mike Wazowski and Ooblar from Jimmy Neutron.  These things were all around the town attacking everyone.  They were all wearing these oversized 80s-esque jackets, and I came up with the strategy that if you pulled there sleeve out of which they were attacking you with their tentacles or guns or something, and tie the sleeve in a knot, you were safe and apparently they were so light, you could swing them around and use them as a weapon...?  Everyone was running around looking for safety and shelter, so I had quite a few encounters with these things and people being attacked by them.

For some reason the buses were still running, so everyone was piling into those for safety.  I was telling this one man who had a son what I had learned about attacking these things, but he couldn't comprehend what I was saying, either because he wasn't completely familiar with the English language or because I was explaining it in a weird way.  Said man's little boy was the cutest thing in the world, by the way.

Throughout the dream, I kept having encounters with these cute little puppies that looked a lot like the puppies my brother's dog just had.  For some reason, everyone was afraid of them, but they were really sweet to me.

For some reason, everyone had to get off at the same bus stop, which I think was the party place from earlier in my dream.  The next part I remember is being dragged/forced to this back room.  My closest friends and family were there and they were all chained to the wall like prisoners.  There were people I recognized from the party, working with something that you'd see in Chemistry class on tables thirty feet away from me.  I was then chained to the wall as well.  As ominously as possible, this girl I had met at the party and spent most of my time with while in Europe, emerged.

She was definitely the model type.  She was tall with super long legs.  She was wearing an outfit that few people would actual wear in public because of lack of confidence.  She was wearing a cutoff black tank top, black leather-spandex skinny jeans, black sort of strappy heel-wedges and she even had her black hair in one of those high, long ponytails with hair wrapped around the top so that you couldn't see the hair-tie (I'm not sure what that's called).  She apparently hated Americans and their hunger for war.  Apparently her peaceful country had been completely warped and twisted by the mindset that Americans were successful and thriving because of their war-thirst.  Her country had created the alien-like things and genetically mutated dogs that would attack any person who rolled in its path.  Hence why people were so afraid of the puppies that kept finding me, which I didn't think were evil until one came running into the room towards me (along with a kitten?).  I found it kind of comforting, until it started whining, which made me sad and nervous because I didn't think our torturer had seen the dog and I wanted him to stay and be of comfort to me.  My friends and family were looking at me now, and I was trying to explain to them that it was okay, that everything would be fine.  They kept looking at the dog in horror and trying to hint that I needed to get rid of it ASAP.  Then came the big dogs.  Well, one giant, godzilla-like dog.  It was tearing down buildings and killing just about everything in its path.

There was a lot of mental torture and exhaustion that took place.  Then, this women asked me if I thought everyone was tired yet and ready to go to sleep.  I said I thought that we were all pretty much alert and awake because of all the adrenalin pumping through our veins (or something more funny to try and "diffuse the tension.")  She then came around to each of us and gave us a chip that had dip on them.  It was super sketchy, and I kept yelling at everyone to not eat it, but they wouldn't listen for some reason.  My mom finally heard me after she had taken a bite.  I asked her how she was feeling.  She said she was really tired and felt like she was going to throw up.  She looked scarily ill.  Our oppressor was walking away, and for some reason I knew that whatever she had given them would make them sick and make them forget everything.  I started screaming and crying at her.  I ran after her and kept hitting her back.  I actual grabbed on to her super long ponytail like a child trying to get attention, and somehow she was strong enough to drag me along like that until we were on some cobblestone sidewalk.  I still didn't let go, and I kept screaming at her through my sobs to bring each of my loved ones back to me.  I had never felt so much anguish.  It was horrifying.

Then, I woke up, reader.

A Memory Forgotten

So, reader.  I'm sure you have a lot of memories, right?  I mean, I'm assuming you're some sort of life form, so I'm assuming you have some sort of sense of memory.  Even cells have memories, so I'm sure you do. Anyways, so, memories.  Why are people so intoxicated with them?  Why is it that when we meet someone who is elderly, we wish nothing more than to hear their life stories?  Why is it that the places that hold our most precious memories bring us peace and a sense of restoration when we think back on them or revisit them?  Or maybe some places hold haunting memories that seem to want to diminish in the back of our minds, but never do, and become fresh, new, and scarily alive once even a glimmer of something reminds us of them?  Ormond Beach is one of those places that holds a sentimental and intimate place in my memory.

More specifically, the timeshare my best friend, Gabby's, grandmother owns.  I came here for the first time when I was about eight or nine, I think.  The place is right on the beach.  They have a pool area, then you can walk right out from the pool, on to that beautiful beach.  I don't know what it is about this beach in particular.  Yes, the water is a little clearer, and it's definitely not as crowded as most beaches I've been to, but there has always been something magical about it to me.  I have had so many meaningful conversations on that beach each time I've been here.  I have made many friends and had many arguments here that altered and realtered my opinions.  Each of the four times that I've been here, I have been a different person than I was the time before.  Last year, I was not quite strong in my conviction to be the sort of person I knew I should be and wanted to be, and the year before that I didn't even know what or who I was or who or what I was trying to be, and the time before that (when I was eight or nine), I had no sense or understanding of the world going on around me or what role I played in it -- well, at least not to the extent that I did the time I came after that, but that's expected after five or six years has passed, right?

This year has definitely been the most meaningful, I think.  I never realized how connected I was to this place until I came yesterday in the late afternoon to see that the cheesy/70s/beachy-feeling decor of the place had been remodeled.  I realized that I had missed the door you have to slam to shut when you use the bathroom and I missed the ugly walls.  I had forgotten the comfort of sand being all over the floors and all over my clothing.  I had forgotten how much I missed the donut shop and the family-owned pizza store across the street.  I had forgotten about the only beach I've ever loved, reader, and I am so sad that this is the shortest I'll have ever stayed here.

I'm going home tomorrow and I'm not sure that I'm happy about that, reader.

What Is This Place?

Oh, hello strangers.

So, it's been a while since I've blogged, so I'm a bit rusty at the moment, but hopefully that will change, and quickly.

Today is my first day of summer.  I was going to spend it with my friends, Charity, Nate, and Adam.  We were going to go to the Landing, which is this somewhat ghetto shopping place downtown.  All the shops surround the center part of the place, which is a stage with a circular area for the crowd to be.  (The crowd stands on cobblestone, or sits/stands on cobblestone stairs, or plays in this fountain thing.  Well, it's not a giant fountain, it's just one of those things where they're multiple little holes in the ground that randomly spit water out at you.)  A lot of bands play there.  My dad did a lot when I was little.  I think the best part of the place, though, is the fact that it's right by the river, which is right behind the stage and the stores.  We were going to go there and just hang out together all day.  Adam is going to Michigan for a month, and when he gets back, the busyness of my summer starts.  So, we wanted to hang out one more time before that happens.  Adam hasn't been feeling too great the past coupled of days -- mostly due to his lack of sleep from working on final exam projects -- and he just wasn't up for the task of being outside all day today, which is absolutely fine.  I want him to get better before his trip.  I just also wanted a proper goodbye.  I didn't hug them when I left them yesterday.  Adam and I have been writing letters to each other ever since I dropped out of the only class we have together, because, at the time, there was no other time we talked to each other.  The last letter I wrote, I gave to him on Wednesday, and he never wrote me back.  In joking, he wanted me to write one that he could read throughout the entire summer, -- because my letters are always notoriously longer than his -- and I was going to pull through with that joke, but he never wrote his reply, and I wanted some foundation as to how to start my letter by replying to his.  So, I'm a little sad this morning, but I plan on using ACT practice, Wall-E, Keeping the Moon by Sarah Dessen, and Doctor Who season 5 to distract me.  (I watched the first episode of the season last night, and the entire show definitely got a complete upgrade.  Haha.)

Well, reader, this is hopefully not the last time we talk this summer.