Squid vs Dreams

I had some intense dreams last night/this morning. I have to write them down somewhere.

First off, I dreamt that I had a dad who was in the mafia. He and I had to go with a bunch of other mafioso guys to have a meeting with the boss in this huge, old, wooden house. It had screens everywhere, iron bars on the windows, dark brown curtains. We all gathered around this huge wooden table that had beige cushions on stools for us to sit. I was a little kid in the dream, and when we went to take our seats, I ran over and sat next to the boss. I think his name was Sully (my imagination couldn't think of an original Sicilian nickname). When I went to sit down, he held up his hand like, "No, child. You can't sit here." And I realized all the mafiosos were sitting across the table, and maybe nobody could sit next to the boss just to keep him from being stabbed or shot easily. So I went and sat next to my dad.

They were all discussing something about drugs and weapons. I wasn't really paying attention. There were a lot of other people in the huge room we were in upstairs. There were kids, too-- playing with their toys.

My dad started to become pissed off about something, and it got all of the other guys riled up. They were all starting to raise up out of their seats, fists on the table, fingers in the air--pointing at Sully. I looked back and forth between the angry guys in suits and the Italian fat man with dark gray hair sitting across from them. He looked so calm. Just had his hands folded across his ribs. He raised his hands in the air, palms faced down. He told them, "Guise. Guise. Less colm down." Pretty much all of the men shut their mouths except for one who kept blabbering on. Sully looked at him, and quickly pulled his gun out and shot him in the chest. It startled everyone in the room, and nobody opened his mouth. Even the kids were quiet and didn't begin crying or screaming. It's as if they were used to this sort of thing. I was shaking, and I thought that he could turn around and shoot me any minute for no reason at all. I thought maybe he'd be holding a grudge against me for wanting to innocently sit beside him and kill me for it.

The middle part is a blur. I don't know what lead to this point, but all of a sudden Sully started killing everyone of his guys. When he killed my dad, I screamed and sank onto the floor under the table. There was blood dripping off of the table's edges. It was so thick - when the drops hit the puddles on the floor below, it didn't even splash. It barely made any kind of impression. Just a mellowed, outwards ripple.

Once Sully was finished with killing his guys off, he started on the innocent people behind him. People were trying to kill him with their own weapons they had either made or improvised to be used as a weapon. Sully was losing all of his cool, collected self that I had seen before. He was turning into this lunatic. With every weapon that anybody tried on him, he somehow used to backfire on them and he was killing people left and right. Then the little kids started in, and he did the same to them just as he did to the adults with no remorse or sadness. It scared me.

He finished off the last kid by blowing him up with some kind of ray gun. When the guts and blood were done sticking to the furniture and bodies laying all around, Sully looked at the mess he made. He was trying to catch his breath. Walking over to a gas stove, he reached for a couple of grenades he had in his jacket pocket. (???) He twisted the knob to turn the gas on, and as a kid I already knew what would happen if he let that grenade explode with gas fuming out. I was staring at the stove when I heard his footsteps quickening towards the door to run out. I scrambled out from under the table - blood on the bottom of my shoes making it difficult to get traction on the floor. As I was almost to the door, Sully had thrown the grenade behind me and it blew up right when I was through the frame and starting down the stairs. I was jumping over steps and stumbling down just to get out of there as quickly as possible. When I passed by doorways, there were explosions coming out of every one. I knew I wasn't going to make it, but I kept going anyway. Sully wasn't too far ahead of me. He went one way, and I went another when I saw that there was a screen window that didn't have iron bars on it unlike all the other windows. When I ripped the screen open, I realized there was glass. I used all of my adrenaline and strength in my little body to bust the glass out with my foot. I crawled out, cutting my arms and chest up on the jagged edges stuck in the window frame. I fell onto the brown grass. It was a cloudy day. I rose to my feet, and looked up at the tall house. Fire was burning out of all the top floor windows. I was amazed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking fast towards a group of houses. It was Sully. I ran over to Sully, and he quickly turned around to see who it was running up to him. After he saw it was me, he sighed and said, "Go away, kid. Ya dad's dead, and I ain't gots any place for youse to go. Scram!" I stopped walking behind him, and he kept stumbling on - looking around to see if anybody was watching. My face swelled up, a knot built up in my throat, and I started crying. In the dream, I knew I had nobody else after my dad was dead. Why else would I be going with him to mafia meetings? Sully heard me crying, and he turned around to face me. He just stood there, shrugged his shoulders and walked over to pick me up.

The rest of the dream is a blur, but we went around killing people and taking their wallets and cars. I grew up to be older in the dream. I think Sully ended up being killed.

The Intermission

Did living in Arizona have that much of a negative effect on me? Sure, I learned quite a few things, but I believe my sister was right when she said my soul was being torn apart. I am apathetic, and I find it hard to truly care about most of the important duties in my life. There are only a few cares that I'm handling with tedious fingers. But my fingers are clumsy, and I'm starting to worry.

I'm fucking tired of feeling this way. Redundancy is wearing me down to the raw bone.

It's time for change, comrades. And by comrades, I mean myself. I moved to Florida to figure out who I am & to be closer to my family. I suppose I've figured out who I am, alright. I'm lazy, obsessive, indulgent, and clueless.

This concludes part one, and now it's time for part two: Working to better myself now that I've figured out what I'm like when nobody is around to tell me what to do. I don't have Noe's parents waking up at 5:00am every morning expecting everyone else to wake up and cook breakfast. I don't have Noe nagging me to do our laundry and to work in the yard while he goes to day labor. I have nobody to shove a boot up my ass and get me to do something. I hated it at the time, but now maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. This is what I wanted though. I have to accept it. I don't know where to go from here or how.

This intermission of Arizona to Florida is lasting a lot longer than what I expected.

I think I'll delete this later.

Squid vs the Actual Weekends

I HATE working every Saturday and Sunday.

I'm really considering getting another job.

Squid vs the Humble Abode

All I want in life is to have my own family, a comfortable amount of money, and a porch for relaxing with my hubby while sipping whiskey & lemonade.

We could fix it up.

Squid vs Famulus

According to trusty Dictionary.com, the origin of the word family goes like this:

Origin:
1350–1400; ME familie familia a household, the slaves of a household, equiv. to famul(us) servant, slave + -ia -y³

"Famulus" is Latin for servant. And we all know what a servant is. They tend to people's needs. They take care of said people. It makes more sense why family is derived from that. As a family way back in the day, I'm sure that the children stayed closer to home when it came time to get married and have their own little families. This way, they could all take care of each other and as the parents got older, the children would tend to their parents as they were tended to. Then as the centuries go by, it's become kind of frowned upon to stay right down the street from your parents. It's become weird to be married off at such a young age & have babies ASAP. It's the norm to shove your mom or dad into a nursing home and pay strangers to take care of them.

Nowadays everyone is set on being their own individual. We want to live our own lives and do our own thing with little to no interference from others. Why would we want to have merely a taste of what it's like to be freed into the world only to come back home and take care of our deteriorating parents for God knows how long? We're taught in school, by friends, by peers, by the media, and most ironically our parents & family to only worry about ourselves, grab life by the balls with an iron claw, and make the most of it. I don't remember leaving home and hearing my parents holler, "Have fun! You'll be back when you finally have your shit straight!"

I really have no idea what I'm talking about. I don't know what I'm going to do when my dad dies and my mom loses it. I'm going to want to put her in some kind of assisted living simply because I'm only 22, and I won't have the ability nor patience to live with her and take care of her. I don't see myself gaining these lost abilities within the next 5 years either.

I feel guilty as a daughter. I've never felt that strong of a connection that a tight-knit family experiences. We don't help each other out without some sort of payback or guilt trip. I haven't really done anything for my parents. At the moment, I live under their roof for free while I try to get on my own two feet. They never made me do chores as a kid, and if I wanted my room to be messy and stinky - then they'd let it be messy and stinky. Same went for my hygiene.

If I feel so bad about it, I suppose I could do something. I could try and stay home more often. I could try to spend more time with my parents no matter how much they upset me half the time. I could try to help my mom more with my dad. I could. I could dish out a nice wad of money and help them get the side of the car fixed. Yep. I could... I could.

Let's face reality: I have the guilt, the intentions, and the idea. But will I do anything about it?

Probably not.