Marzipan candy is great. People should get this for me. In other news: I should not be allowed to go into World Market because I want to buy one of everything so I can try it. For instance: I now know that cactus soda exists. I wish I did not know that. The curiosities threaten to overwhelm.

Had a weirdo dream the other night. I was walking in a building. It looked like a mall. Or something. There were other people walking around the way people do in malls. And then suddenly, I was holding this wrinkly, creepy looking baby. A psychic baby. Because it told me to take it into the sushi restaurant. And I did. And I sat down in a booth, and then suddenly the baby was gone. And everyone around me was getting food, but none was brought to me…not that I get excited about sushi…but my dream-self was hungry, and I could smell cold-fish smell and cooking shrimp smell, and despite my not even liking these foods, I was getting annoyed that I wasn’t being fed. And then things went hazy, and the restaurant closed, and I came back the next day. Right at opening. I was the only person there. It seemed like the employees weren’t even there yet. Then suddenly, the doorway and the big glass windows out into the mall disappeared, and the sushi restaurant became the entire universe (I can’t really explain that point). Little blue flames were hovering everywhere. Like bunson burner flames. And then there was this very tall, Asian chef. I looked up, and he was just vaulting over tables to get to me, meat cleaver in hand, ready to chop me into bits…so I slid out of my booth and stood, and became fire. Not the teeny blue flames, but red-gold inferno flames. I think I killed the chef. I felt very pleased about it. Because that’s the kind of dreams I dream.

I almost could not sleep last night, because I started to doze off, and then my brain was like, “hey…remember that Lovecraft story where this dead ghoul child rises from its grave and crashed a party because he doesn’t realize he’s dead?”
It’s not that creepy. Certainly not by comparison to other things I’ve read…but I could not fall asleep for thinking about it.

Was thinking about Ligotti’s stories again, too. I forget what. I think I was wondering what country they are supposed to be in. Because our butchers (when we have them, as opposed to supermarkets or family groceries) don’t usually advertise goat in neon signs. Or maybe I am just too limited in my knowledge of what butchers sell in other states…we just don’t eat a lot of goat in the Midwest.
It confuses me because he spent a lot of his life in Michigan (I am not clear on whether he’s from there, but that seems to be the consensus). Do they eat goat in Michigan and I just never noticed? Perhaps this is the kind of “meat-nonsense” his character is thinking about after staring too long at the neon sign for GOAT.

A different topic:
In the post-apocalyptic world, I am probably that person who dies from an infected cut.
About a week ago, I cut my hand on the tag inside my winter glove. I am trying to not think about it right now, but this cut has evolved into a purple-red spot on my hand, with a yellow-green spot in the middle of that. Washing and band aids and Neosporin and antibiotic ointment have clearly not been as effective as I would like. I am probably going to have it looked at on Friday.

What else is there?

Oh. Well. There is that. The paranoia again. That maybe Wolf and I have overstepped, and that it is known. It is uncomfortable to think that someone disapproves of a thing you have done, but is waiting for the right moment to tell you that they know, and that they do not approve. Why do they not just say it outright? I could not guess. We’d like them to do it though. Just say that you know. And then I can stop dwelling on my feeling that I know you know, and I can stop waiting for the eruption of disapproval. But I can’t just tell you that I know you know…because…what if I’m wrong? (Wolf is never wrong.)

Thinking again about friends I used to have. And books.
Mostly Katy.

I forget if I said before, but…she was my best friend while we were in grades 6-8. And She used to do this thing where she’d get books for me to read so that I could tell her about them.
The more I think about it, the weirder it seems. Like. I only remember two of the books she specifically gave me for that purpose…and it’s just…weird. Like, why did she not read them herself? Why did I accept this bizarre situation? (Because free books, probably.) Been bugging my dad to see if he knows where my old books are boxed up, because as I keep thinking about it, I kind of want them back…hm.

*considers*
Going back to Lovecraft…I was thinking again about the story Dagon, and I can’t fathom why anyone thinks that’s a creepy story. It’s not. It’s a dream-fragment, which is where HP got the story, so that makes sense…but…I don’t know. It’s not scary, not the way it’s written. It could be. It could be if it was fleshed out with more backstory and then dun dun DUNNN! Suddenly, a monster! And then go from there…like…cinematize the plot or something (although not like they did in the actual Dagon film, which doesn’t seem to hold to the short story very well, since it takes place in Spain, which HP probably would have objected to), and it could be scary.
Idk…it’s not a great story. I think it only crossed my mind because of the tenuous connection to the other thing Wolf and I have been looking at.
And also because we’ve been reading Game of Thrones again, and wondering if the little prayer or affirmation among the seagod worshippers–“what’s dead may never die”–and the name Dagon being in use on the Iron Islands is a nod to Lovecraft. I think it is. It would be hard to be unaware of those things, I think, and then to also represent house Greyjoy with a kraken.

This has been my desktop picture for a while now.

house lovecraft

And with this I leave you, for I must get up ungodly early again tomorrow, and I do not look forward to it at all.

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