My mother had become deranged and schizophrenic. I remember scenes of my pool out back being filled to overflowing with blood. There were jowls of human faces crumpled against the concrete. Hacked limbs were everywhere. I couldn't smell anything, though...just see all those pieces of rotting flesh lying around. She was holding these metal things. Blood oozed off them. I don't know why it chilled me: if it was because it was my mother and I was next or that I might have recognized most of those empty faces. I woke up with my heart heaving in my chest. I was absolutely horror-stricken and couldn't go back to sleep. I finally did...and then something else came. I can't remember it. They made me numb and small.

The rest of the day has been alright so far. My prof and I played around with electrical equipment for awhile to see how it worked. I cleaned up 20 years worth of rat feces coated on metal bars. This is the ladder of shafting, friends, and at the end are a few more small slips of paper. I guess being an lab bitch isn't all that bad.

The college is a desolate ghost town. Locals tentatively move back to reclaim the walkways and grassy knolls like iguanas finding their favorite sunning rocks unoccupied. They chill there with the few of us left. It's overcast, but warm. There's a hint of mildew.

Last night my friend Orphan and I talked for awhile. She's moving out of her child's father's place and going out on her own. She's lonely, sad..feels like she's let him down. Her daughter is 9 months. She's cute; reminds me of her mom in many ways.

She asked if she could move in, camp out on my floor. Maybe others say this sort of thing to be funny..but she feels alone, needs someone's touch to reminder her she's still there. I was tempted. There are mornings and nights where I lie in bed and wonder about myself: the last time someone physically touched me, snuggled up and was just there. I'm used to being isolated, but it still hurts. It's tempting because I want that again, but I can't have that. I can barely help myself, let help someone raise a child.

The Darwin bus passes by sometimes, huge advertisements for breeding often and vigorously shouting at me in bright neon colors. I'm reminded on all sides, by all sorts of different people. In about 4-6 years it'll be a memo in an office, on the tongues of a cocktail party, or a note tagged onto my file. Maybe I can put it on my resume as a perk.

There's an easier way, but I don't know what that is. I guess I keep going and just don't pay attention.

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