I had a weird dream last night, where one of my professors kissed me. I don't have a crush on this man, but he is probably the most interesting older man I have met at ASU. But I know it was not his kiss that I wanted. I wanted one from someone else. He was denying those to me. Can one believe that? I didn't ask after the first no. I have never experienced such a stupid thing. Maybe he is not that wonderful after all.

I my dream, we were in a hospital or sth like that. He (the professor) was wearing one of those robes patients use. I was talking to him, and I knew he liked so much my ideas and intellect (I think), that he couldn't help but kiss me. He closed the little curtain so other people in the halls wouldn't see. I remember that my worst fear was that this was going to cost me not to graduate. I didn't really cared about his kiss, and now, I was in trouble nevertheless.

Then boats in a red river. If I say it was like blood, I'd be telling lies. It was more like dark pink. Weird creatures were in it, but I was on a boat. I think this was because of a game I was not playing last night.

That is all I remember.

As for today, life sucks. I am too old for this shit.

posted by Paula at 9:47 PM


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I may just write here purely to kill time. It is not like I don't have things to say. It is simply that I wish I had nothing to say.

I am bored of myself. I am scared of myself... for different reasons.

Sometimes it scares me the fact that I always seem to know too well. I can read people too well. I know what is gonna happen. So I start fearing way before it actually happens.

Sometimes I am afraid that the last thing is wrong, and that actually by fearing it and thinking I know it, I make it happen. Like Gustavo said: "... tanto le temes que al fin sucede..."

Sometimes I am scared that even those times when I am right, or maybe just those times that I made it right... so you see: it is "right" one way or another... those times I take more shit that I should. I am afraid and scared that I hurt myself as much as other people do.

So here I am. At the same corner again. Praying for me to be wrong. Convincing myself that I am. And letting others step on my head. Put salt on the open wound. Stick the dirty finger on it, and revolving it.

And no one cares.

No one cares.

That is why this is for no one.

posted by Paula at 2:45 AM


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