Fabric Softener.

I close my eyes and on the verge of sleep I see a small, chubby black and white cat. With the brightest green yellow eyes I've ever seen. And the meekest, cutest meow ever to come from a cat's tiny mouth. A cat that was still but a kitten in every sense, not yet two years old. A cat that would scale my back, when not given enough attention or to see what I found so interesting, that I must hunch over to examine more closely. A playful kitty who would stalk my feet as I move about waiting only until I stopped to give them a good pounce. A cat that would purr instantly when I called out her name and come running to the icebox door every morning I opened it, knowing full well all she had to do was look up to me with her silly shaped head and I would give her the milk she was so looking forward to. It has been months since I have seen that face. And with each passing day it hits me more and more that I will never see that little face again. Not only can I not see her, every time I try to picture that completely innocent life the image is shattered just as quickly as it came. Not due to an accident, nor unfortunate event. Every time I hear her meow inside my head, I can only imagine the cries she must have let out. Every time I see her furry face, it is replaced by something I can hardly call a cat. Rather a gutted, skinned and tortured body, placed in a sleeping position, her head resting on her front paws. As if she had fallen asleep. No blood, no sign of a crime. Just placed in my front yard for me to find. I would never ask for any of my pets, my family, my kitties and pups to be taken from me. But for her, I can only wish this did not be the way she had to go. The one night she wanted to stay out and play in the grass and trees, was her last. She was probably purring when her killer picked her up and took her away. To kill her so brutally. To torture her. For what reason. To prove you can hurt something you can lift with one hand? I feel nothing but guilt. With the late hours I keep, surely I should have heard something. And why bring her back to me, as if taking her from me in such a cruel way wasn't enough. And I was so mad at her, that morning, I called and called her and she didn't come. She's out playing, being a cat. Of course she wanted to come home. But she couldn't. Someone made sure of that. I have never felt so much fury and wrath as I do for this faceless creature. I cannot think of my gentle companion without clenched teeth or fists. I would show no mercy. When you attack the defenseless you deserve no compassion. And I can't think of anything as defenseless as a six pound cat. No one seems to understand how the death of a cat could hit so hard. But it wasn't just her death. If it was her death it wouldn't be so bad, I think. I'd miss her all the same. But at least there would be comfort in knowing I got to know her and love her for almost two years. Two happy years. Filled with catnip and toys and milk. And don't scratch the furniture! But it wasn't. Someone took her life in their hands and forcefully removed it from her. I have never thoughtfully wished harm to anyone. But I wish that person the worst. All the pain she must have felt and she was powerless to stop it. And for what? Some sick fuck's amusement. I'd tear his throat with my teeth if given the chance. Skin him alive. See how he likes it. And I think what is most disgusting, most disheartening is that Downy, my little fabric softener, is not the only one. There are families, with children, who had their kitty taken and defiled only to find them in the morning. Laid out like some fucking piece of trash. And that creature will never be punished. He will never have to answer for all the innocent lives he took. Even if he were caught, the punishment would not be fitting, I think.  
I shall try to sleep again. And hold my pillow as the comforting lover I've yet to find.

So I skipped a few days of writing talking to myself here. But that's alright! In fact I did try to do a bit last night, but its so troubling how easy it is to think of things to write when there is no keyboard or paper, yet when I sit down with either, my mind just wanders into places it should not. It was my intention to use this as tally marks. No, perhaps a guide to make sure I finally stay on track with something.

I had a nice conversation with an older, much wiser friend of mine. At some point we came to the subject of video games. And he asked me with knitted brows, "do you think you'll ever outgrow them?" And I had to think about my reply for a moment. At first glance it seems like such a childish thing to essentially waste time with. But at second glance they've become so popular, I don't know one person who does not have a 360 or PS3, at least a Wii , in their home. I'm not going to go into some long rant about why or why not video games should be taken seriously. I just don't see their existence ending any time soon. In any case, after a second of trying to picture myself not playing them in the future all I could say, with a smirk, was "I like killing people too much." Now, do I really enjoy killing people? No. Well I could not say because I've not killed a man. But I'm pretty sure I can go with no. There is just something so satisfying about getting a headshot across the map with a .50 cal and just know the bitch didn't see it coming. Especially after a long, hard day. It just comes down to escapism and really realizing how much of an escapist I am. Its actually much worse than I thought. I see this now, because I have wasted at least 70+ hours on Fallout 3 and 100+ on Oblivion, and I do not technically have both games completed. I say wasted, but I know I enjoyed each bit of the story and gameplay, not so much Oblivion. I barreled through that fucking game, I found it so boring. Not to say its a bad game, just not my taste. Trying to stay on track here, those are just two games. Two games. I've played hundreds. God, my life is sad.

I can look at my escapism two ways. The time wasting aspect, which isn't a big deal in itself, its just how much time I spend on wasting time. That aside, lets put that completely aside. The want to disconnect myself from my life has helped me write a very personal story. I have become able to take my life and all its experiences so far and place them in a different time and setting. Its not complete and I wish for nothing more than to someday soon be able to call it complete. And I was very pleased that I was able to outline a new chapter displaying the twins' affections more. I've been having some difficulty trying to figure out just how I want to make their relationship change and when and where those changes should be made. But I think that will be another night. I am tired and my hair's a tangled wet mess.

On a completely unrelated note, this made me smile.

The ram has touched the wall.

Alright then. Well I decided to write this about three hours ago, but ended up wandering away because of some small distraction. No matter. I find myself, again, wanting to change but I've only the tiniest drive to actually do so. I've come to find that my biggest obstacle to myself is myself. Every time I set out to do something, no matter how small, I find large barriers which I have constructed that I am far too lazy to climb. These barriers are quite large, like a castle's defensive walls stretching on for miles and miles, towering over me causing a strain in my neck as I try to see their tops. There are no doors, you are trapped in your comfortable, albeit rather boring world. The cancer's shell, perhaps. I cannot even begin to picture myself trying to climb all the way up, even putting hand to rock is a stretch. But is there really a need to climb? That is surely not the only way to rid myself of this obstacle. Straight through. Instead of climbing, I will take this tiny drive of mine, the smallest amount of C4 and strap it to this towering wall, then simply press a button to bring down the wall with a most satisfying explosive end. At least enough for my small frame to fit through. God knows if there's anything I can do, its press a button.

Now then, there's no going back.