“Get to the good stuff, Waffles!” you say as I ramble on about nothing. Okay, okay, disclaimer over, anyway, yeah, my day started terribly!! I have to wear a cast for eight weeks, but whatever, I can live with that. Put in the replies what stickers I should put on this thing.

It was ALL worth it because, at urgent care, there was another girl there who had a broken wrist. And, reader, SHE WAS CUTE AS HELL. She rollerblades, which is completely adorable, and she was just sitting in the waiting room, journaling!! Like, old-school, in a notebook, with a pen, journaling. Le swoon.

So, like, great start, right? Total meet-cute. I started telling her about how I write poetry, which is something I never do but her perfect dimpled smile made me feel like I could tell her anything and everything. And I was going to but then … she passed out!! I’m not even kidding, she was totally fine, talking completely normally and then: bam, unconscious. I’ll be honest, it was terrifying. I immediately went to the nurse’s station of course, to try and get help and they checked her out and it turns out she was just sleeping? They asked me if I knew if she had a history of sleeping disorders and I had to be like, “uh, I have no idea, I just met this girl and was trying to get my flirt on when she went all slack in these super uncomfortable plastic chairs.” They said they’d check her out for a concussion, but then the doctor called me in to put my cast on and by the time I came back out, she was gone.

Now, this is the moment in a fic where’d I’d bite my nails and stay up until two in the morning reading to see how the writer is going to get the two characters together again. Except, that’s not how life works! Other than the fact she journals and her passing out gave me some good inspo for aforementioned Hurt/Comfort, I know nothing about her. I don’t even know her name. I don’t know how I would even begin to find her again.

My life is a t r a g e d y.

AUGUST 30TH, 2016

I woke up in my house. The same house I’ve lived in for my whole life. And I knew I was dreaming. I was at the front door, facing it like I was about to go out. Except the door was shut and I knew—somehow I knew—that I shouldn’t open it. So I turned around and I walked past the small mirror in our front hall, expecting to see my own face. But nothing was there.