the book for class says to write to find out what I have to say, because I don’t really have much to say.

Actually, something has been on the mind and it might have been written about already, but we try never to go back and read blogs. We either get embarassed about what we’ve written, upset that we shared too much, or upset we don’t remember writing about anything to begin with.

I can already tell the words are being stolen. I can’t concentrate and there is a battle inside the head. Oh, please, help me.

The bed. The bed. The bed. It came to someone when the father-in-law was in the hospital that we didn’t always sleep in a bed. We remembered so many timnes when we would sleep on the floor in the hateful bedroom, on the floor in the bathroom, in the bathtub, or just on the couch. The night we shacked up with S.P.D. we wouldn’t sleep in his bed; we slept on the floor. It began when we were around ten, I think. I can’t be sure. I know we were young. For years, we wouldn’t make blankets on the floor because the bed scared us. We graduated from the bedroom floor to the bathroom. That makes sense because there has always been something safe regarding the bathroom floor. We used to journal on the bathroom floor. Don’t know what it is. Perhaps it is the coldness of the floor or the sterility

get with it. nothing bad ever happened in the bathroom. that’s why you slept in there.

for some reason we needed more safety and started sleeping in the bathtub. we found a bug in the tub one night and started sleeping on the bathroom floor again. I don’t know when or how we started sleeping on the bedroom floor again but I think it was b/c the brother complained that he coulnd’t pee in the middle of the night b/c we were in there. sorry s.o.b.

I know we slept on the floor into our twenties. Even when we moved into our own apartment we slept on the floor.

i hate what i’m writing because it is cold. it lacks the emotion of what drove us to the floor and bathroom. there is nothing behind these words and the words aren’t the ones i would choose to begin with. fuck it all fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

something happened to the mind when Phil was in the hospital. i slept on the couch and not the bed. it just struck me: the uncle had been bothering us as we tried to drift off to sleep. he kept floating in and out of the mind. maybe that is what drove us to sleep on the couch.

in any case, we slept on floors till our twenties. beds always scared us.

i’m mad at the world

i’m upset now and there’s nothing for me. i don’t know what the hell is being written.

this is dangerous to the core. something is missing, but no one notices. this is dangerous.

Talk to me!

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