I'm so down, it's hard to write anything. I just want to run away and hide.

I keep dreaming of people dying and when I look at the list of names, my name is crossed out. So viciously, that the nib of the pen tears the page, down to the page below. Over and over again, I try and each time, I'm listed as dead.

I dream that I'm two people (twins), one murdered--stabbed in the heart, up under the ribs, with a long, thin knife like a boning knife--the other on the run, hiding her identity as an old village woman in clay-colored rags, crouched down, hoping the killers will just pass by without noticing. Her once-bright future, her comfortable life left behind, running and hiding, cold and hunger her future.

The alarm buzzes and I realize I've just been dreaming, that's all, but the heavy frightened feeling stays with me. All I want to do is sleep and read and sleep some more. I have to stop tearing up at every thought of what lies in store for the future; maybe a book will distract me. I know what each day/week/month/year will bring, worse and worse, and I just don't want to accept it. Don't know how I'm going to deal with it.

But first I have promises to keep right now--at the very least, I have to make up Norm's meds for the week. And feed the cat. And get myself some coffee. And...and...

I just seems too much to cope with. Going back to bed instead.

There. That was my 10 minutes of self-pity. Finished. Now I really must get started on those pills.