I had the dream again last night. The first responders had made a mistake. She had not died, after all. She had been injured, taken to a hospital in their ambulance like an actual human being, and treated. In my dream, she'd healed and we joked in a most scary way about her supposed death. I remember thinking in my dream not to say such awful things aloud because if there was a God, he might kill her to shut my mouth. Dream-Cory grinned at me and patted me with her hands, a mother hen if ever there was one. I reached out and touched her again and again, marveling that her flesh was warm...she was warm just like me!
This dream from last night carried me on the crest of a positively jubilant mood for nearly 13 hours. I wore makeup today, an updo, and balanced my newly acquired 120 pound frame on some cute little wedge heels. I was on top of the world. Then, like a sugar high, my good mood plummeted.
She's not here and I fucking hate everything.
Not that it matters, but it's just not fair.
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