I used to be entirely absorbed by my dreams, i still have far too many books for figuring out what they mean and interpretting them. I ca barely rememebr them now, I can barely hold on to them. Sometimes I make up stories about dreams i had, and tell them as if it were a real dream. So that I cand pretend.

I had a dream last night, or was it the night before, in which i was wearing a bathin suit and iw as deathly afraid my mother would see my tattoo
(it is on my hip you see)
i had been running about carefree for some time before the possibility struck me. Then i was desperately trying to make the suit fit over it, befor eir ealized it couldnt be seen at all
and someho win my dream my mother already knew about it, and didnt care.

my relationship with my mother has been on my mind alot lately. I miss the time when i could divid my family members across stark lines, those i liked got along with and thougth were good people and those whom i hate who treated me and others poorly and were bad people. Just as with age good and bad becme less clear, so did my relationship with my family.
Once my mother was very much on the good side. she was the good parent, the fairy godmother to my father's wicked stepsister.
The problem is, as i grow older, my mother is less of a saint. Perhaps she is changing or perhaps my view of her is changing. She is not good at all to my brother. She has horrible expectations and inconsitencies. She is mean, and cruel at times. She can be hateful now, something i never thought her capable of before.
meanwhile, my father is less of a monster. which is horribly disapointing. If my mfather turns out to have a few redeeming wualities, how will i blame all my problems on him to my future therapist?
Lying to my mother is easy, and natural and nearly constant. another year of life like this and i shall have a whole new life, an entire set of imaginary stories and friends for my mother's benefit.
I lie about how much money I have, homework i have. I lie about getting things done. I lie about the most mundane and trivial things that happen.I am not sure why I lie to her so much. Perhaps it is because once i tell a few necessary lies it all gets out of my control, and more become necessary or natural . . . or fun.

This summer I have promised myself that I will have a long talk with mom, about dealing with things. Particularly my brother being gay. I am so afraid of never even having the option of coming out to her that i have far too much personal investment in how she handles this, the fact that she tells him he needs a girlfriend, or if i make reference to it she screams at me . . . . makes me very worried. BEcause the fact is i look at that as a sign of how she will one day handle me . . . if i ever tell her. I still frequently dapple with the idea of never telling her. It is horrible of me.

there are certain aspects of my own nature that i will never accurately be able to deal with. that i will never understand the ccause of.

I creat so much that is not there. i just wish i knew why i did it. was the real world ever really that bad?