I must say, seeing a cat without a collar is refreshing and freeing. Martha has had this stupid flee collar on for months, and I am possitive it doesn't work. So I just took it off. Oh, not to mention, it smells nasty. Like baby powder. I hate that smell. There's this new guy I work with named "Mike," and he smells like English muffins. It drives me nuts because I really like English muffins, but I don't much like him. I get really hungry when I'm standing next to him on pizza line. It's strange. I think Martha is relieved to not be wearing that pointless and unfashionable collar. Maybe she'll be a bit less crazy now. Yeah, so, I was at work the other day, and everyone is sick and coughing, with the exception of this one man named Bradley. B-rad. Yeah, and he says something to the affect (effect?) of, "There's so much coughing in this pizza place, it's like we're working in the mines or something." So I retort, "Yeah, we've all got pizzalung." And I thought it was very clever. But I find that I'm really weird, and people don't do well with weird sometimes. It doesn't compute with them, and makes me want to be normal and pretentious like everyone else or something. But I like saying what I'm thinking. For instance, I told that Mike character that he smells like English muffins. I don't know. Sometimes I just think life would be easier if I never talked at all. Just kept to myself, and didn't say much. Because people just don't get it. I really don't think it's me who's so daft and clueless. But I'm pretty sure that's what everyone thinks. It's a funny thing. I'm really hard on myself because of the way I look, and I think that really takes a toll on the capability of my mind. I think I have a wonderful mind. A creative mind. A wise mind. Sometimes I feel very old. I'm not trying to sound full of myself, I just need to be reminded. And very very few people can do that for me. Remind me of these things. Not many people know how. The majority of the world's occupants are far too focused on themselves. Hm. I had the craziest dream last night. It was distubingly, strangly beautiful. It wasn't as vivid as most. Maybe it had to do with me listening to ambient music on repeat all last night, I don't know. I think that may have had an effect (affect????). Anyhow, I was walking down the street, jaywalking I believe, and if I remember correctly, all these people were running around in a frenzy, and this older policeman grabbed me and threw me onto the ground. He was holding me down and staring into my face, shining this flashlight into my eyes, seeing if I was on Drugs. I freaked and started screaming at him to lay off, and quit treating me like some stoner hippy. Then it became weird and fast. Somehow in that ten second span he found out that I had done drugs because he did a hair test. So I started running and running, away from these officers of the law. Sidenote: I find that I'm either my ideal self or worst self (in terms of my figure) in my dreams, never the way I am. I think that has something to do with my selfconcept. Anyhow, I get to this gas station, and I've got to hurry before they find me. I buy some coffee, a lot of coffee if I recall correctly, and jelly beans, or maybe they were Mike & Ikes. I love those. I'm getting all this stuff because I have to leave, and travel for a really long time to escape these police. And I asked this random man for help in the gas station. He was really tall. And helped me carry the things I had purchased. The next part I don't really remember. Then I'm in these woods, these scary woods, dark and brown. And I find this old woman who's been expecting me. She opens this door, and in front of me appears this white staircase. This place is like a paradise of sorts, and I'll be safe in there. Everything is pure and white and beautiful. I just remember feeling whole. Then I realized that these men where still after me, and they had found this paradise and were coming inside. I think that was the end of the dream. It was just emotionally strange. Everything felt very odd and overwhelming. I enjoy my dreams for the most part. They're very interesting to me, and the majority of my friends. I don't know. I wish I understood them better. And by that I don't mean I wish I could interpret them. Because I really think that the majority of what you dream deals with what you saw during the day, and what was filtered into your subconscious throughout your waking hours. I just don't understand how they take form. How they make stories, still incorperating what you saw or heard, but at the same time maintaining a sense of originality that you yourself didn't come up with. Strange. I can't write anymore tonight. I'm feeling very unnerved. And it's late.