So, I know some people wonder why I don't drink. Or why I don't do a lot of things that people my age think are "fun" or whatever. Well, that's easy. I don't like to not be in control of myself. If I drink or do drugs, then I'm not the one making my own choices. I refuse to let anyone or anything else decide my own fate or actions.

So hey, sometimes I come across as a boring guy. Whatever. I'm not out to impress anyone. Besides, I already got my girl. I don't really care what anyone else thinks of me.

Speaking of! I can't believe how great things are doing since the, uh, well whatever. I don't like thinking about it and I think she's the same way. And in a way, focusing on just being Lizzie and Danny and not worrying about what's happened, but rather where we are and where we're going... I think that's gotten us closer. You know, you don't know what you got til it's gone, if you love something let it free, all that jazz. It really seems to be true in our case.

Why am I doing a blog? It isn't private like Lizzie's diary -- excuse me, journal. It's accessible to anyone even if I won't mention it. And there are things that I won't ever talk about. Like the times where I'm just a pain in Lizzie's ass. And I'm not even big on technology. So why?

Well I want to exist as I am in some form. Even if it's digital. If I ever change, I want something to be around to remind people, or even me, of what I was. And maybe one day I'll open up and share more of myself. Maybe that's how it'll have to be? Never know.

Anyway, I better go do something before Lizzie thinks I'm getting lazy and stuff by always spending time on here. And I have to go take another shower. She may appreciate me wearing Yankees stuff, and it may end up being a plus overall for me because of her reactions, but it still makes me feel dirty.

mood: anxious
listening to: Beastie Boys - Sabotage

I don't dream anymore.

I know it's weird, but ever since the plane crash, I haven't had a dream. Not a good one, not a bad one. The first few nights after I arrived in the Reach I just didn't sleep. I was a shell of a human, lost in the in-between world that I found myself in. I immediately latched to my training, even if I was still weak and injured from the crash.

The lack of dreams wasn't a side-effect from my training. It wasn't because I eventually learned to focus my body's chi into restoring and rejuvenating my body as I slept. It wasn't any ninja trick. It wasn't even because the Reach exists someplace that seems to be outside of normal time and space. I never found out what it was from. How do you make yourself dream?

For the longest time I didn't care. I imagine my dreams would only be haunted with gunshots. The memories of my parents dying in front of me. Their last words... I can't remember them. I don't know if I want to. I think I should. Would I know in a dream? Why is this suddenly bothering me? But I digress... The plane crash, the sight of my friends and their mangled bodies. The memory of what I had to do to them in order to survive. No. Nothing good would come in dreams.

But then... I met her. Kazzy introduced us, we talked a little, and I was smitten. This cute girl wearing pants that were about to fall off of her and a wifebeater stained in different colors. Not exactly what you think of when you think of "dreamgirl" but there she was. And after a while I realized that's what I wanted Lizzie to be. The girl of my dreams.

And she is, figuratively if not literally. I never would have conjured up someone like her and thought that this girl is who I'd fall so hard for. But I guess that's how dreams work, right? Your subconscious assembles some figure that you can't recognize in your cognitive thoughts. She exists, but aside from a few fleeting details that you end up questioning, you can't remember what she looks like. There's a vague recollection of how she acts, how she sounds, how she moves... but you can't pin it down. But I knew. When she crawled her way on the beanbag with me and our bodies came together as if drawn by a force of nature... Lizzie was the girl of my dreams.

So I don't dream. But every time I see my Lizzie I don't envy those who do. For one time in my life, it's better than anything my subconscious could conjure. I don't know what strange set of circumstances had to happen to bring us together, but it sort of makes me think that some things are just destined to happen. Now when I enter my dreamless sleep, I know it's how most people's waking hours are. Because my dream girl is real.



I wonder if she writes stuff this mushy in her diary.

mood: quixotic
listening to: albert hammond, jr. - cartoon music for superheroes