The natural life; you're born, you die.

Listening To: Natural Life by Breaking Benjamin
Feeling: The opposite of OPA!. Which must mean something terrible.

Holy granola, my organs hurt. Don't ask my why my organs hurt. I just know they do. Mom tells me I must've slept wrong, but it feels like an alien ripped open my stomach while I was sleeping and pounded my organs because he was bored, then went back home. That's how bad they feel. Oh, and my spine hurts. My ribs hurt. My eyeballs hurt. He probably beat those, too.

Though this post was not supposed to be about everything that was currently causing me pain, it seems that's the way it started off. Oh well. Let's go ahead and get to the topics at hand here, shall we?

I was just contemplating on the fact that I am a person who likes to remember "the good times," an awful lot. I'll just look over and dad and be like,

Me: Dad, do you remember that time?

Dad: *sighs dramatically because he knows what's coming* No, I remember no such time. I don't remember any of the times.

Me: Oh, sure you do. It was that one time when me and you and mom went to the park and we played with those velcro pads and the baseballs that stuck to them because I can't play any real sports, but then I thought I could play real sports so I said, "Let's play soccer!" And then we started to play makeshift soccer but you kicked the ball pretty hard and it flew up into my face and hit me in the nose and I had a bloody nose and I was all upset?

Dad: I vaguely recall.

Me: Good times. 8D Oh, wait, no, I thought you had broken my nose and I was going to be horribly ugly for the rest of my life D8< Bad times, bad times!

And this is how these things go with us. I'm always remembering that one time, and half the time my parental units don't even know what I'm talking about. They are highly convinced that I've made up half of my childhood with false memories and the other half are real but I don't remember those as much because they aren't as exciting for me as the false ones. Though I am absolutely positive they're just old and don't remember the finer points of my upbringing.

I, however, remember all of the finer points of my upbringing. Like how when I was younger I saw those Leprechaun movies and I was highly convinced that that Leprechaun was hiding under my bed, and someone who hated me told him I had his gold and I'm like "Frakk no, I don't have your gold" but he still thought so anyway, and if I dangled a leg or arm over the side of my bed he would claw the crap out of me and drag me under the bed and murder me. To this day I'm still in the habit of attempting to keep my limbs firmly on the bed; never mind that underneath my bed is so much crap there would be no place for the Leprechaun to hide, unless he could shrink himself.

And I wouldn't be surprised.

A more recent memory, though, is that dad has this box thing. It makes noise like it's some huge frakking dog but really it's just a speaker, and he put it in my bathroom as I was passing by. It has a motion sensor. And I'm all ladi-da-dee-isn't-life-super-special-awesome with my iPod in my hand and a dog in the other and this thing goes off. I scream, and I don't even know what I scream, but I scream, drop my iPod and set dog down as gently as a freaked out person an and run. Run like I am in a freaking MARATHON, because I am a survivor and I was highly convinced there was a demon in my bathroom.

I ran directly into dad, who was hunching down in the hallway to witness this reaction -- AT NIGHT, MIND YOU -- so I thought the demon was double-teaming me with another demon before I realized it was dad, who was LOL, ROFL, LMAO, OMGWTFBBQ'ing in the hallway. I basically tried to scrabble over him and told him to save me and basically told him to be eaten by the demon who was after my poor, pure soul. Before I figured out everything was a joke.

The moral of the story is: be careful if you have as big as an imagination as I do.