I had a dream last night that I made out with Trevor Phillips from Grand Theft Auto V. Why...?? Why, brain, why! It was such a fucked up dream...

Why is it all of a sudden hitting me, as if it just happened?

The crushing weight that I'll never see him again. The suffocating memories of his jokes that I'll never hear him say.  The insufferable pain that a man that was once so alive and full of love and humor is sitting alone in a plastic or metal container.

He's been gone for almost four months. But it suddenly feels as if it were just moments ago. I'm not even sure what triggered this. But I can't shake it. I know I need to, though. I'm heading to Connecticut to visit my dad. I can't bring this on him. But just the thought of my dad and how he must feel about losing his just makes it harder to control myself.

Alright...

That's about all I can say about the dream I had last night. And guess who it was about!!

Ethan B... The one I fell in love with... Yes, I rolled my eyes at myself as well.

But it wasn't a typical Ethan dream. It was a confusing Ethan dream. It started with a text message. I don't know who started the conversation, but eventually, Ethan sent me about ten pictures. It was a scroll-able list, which I didn't realize, and I only saw about five or six pictures at first, and they were all of him. I was so confused... Like, why would he send me pictures of himself? The last time he did that was three years ago before we anything started between us. And it made me think about a lot of things. But the dream cut to a different part, where I was a ninja-type thing and I had a plastic katana that would some how same me from evil? It was fun, but really strange. Then it went back to the Ethan part. I saw that on my phone, I suddenly had a contact pictures, which somehow meant he unblocked me from Facebook. I was ecstatic at first, 'cause I was thinking maybe we could finally be friends! But then I was looking at the rest of the pictures he sent me, 'cause I finally realized he sent more than just the five or six of himself, and there was a picture of a girl with a panicked, teary face, and another of a girl in a hospital bed, then of him holding a baby girl... So I texted him, confused and worried as fuck, asking if he had a little girl. I set my phone down, and I was on Facebook, looking at his profile to see if he was in a relationship. I don't remember if he was, but I was like imagining what he would say to my question when my phone went off. My eyes were, for some reason, blurry (but I don't think it was because I was crying, I think it was more I was still half asleep) so I couldn't really reach my phone, but I knew that no matter what I was imagining he would say, I needed to see for real. He said yes. At least I think he did, because I woke up about that time.

But overall, it was a fucking strange dream. And it kind of depresses me. Because I wish I could just speak to Ethan. Even if just as a friend. Because I think that's all I really want from him anymore. I don't know.

I just do not know.

What I do know is that I want to take a bus to Port Chester, then take one to Stamford, Connecticut, and walk on over to the liquor store on Pacific Street (because I know exactly where it is and I won't get lost) and buy a huge bottle of vodka. Then come back to campus and use up a couple of my meals to buy lots of orange juice and get absolutely drunk.

I tried updating the About Me thing on the right, but it won't let me. I'm not nineteen anymore. I'm twenty-one. Blogger, why won't you work?

Ugh, my God. So sick. Sore throat. Sound like a man...

When did I start saying God instead of gosh? I don't know. I've given up. Life sucks too much to sugar-coat it with goshes and oh mys.

I had an amazing birthday. Got so drunk. Didn't pass out or vomit! And I only fell once, and woke with no hangover. This drinking business is pretty easy. Too bad it's such a chore to get drunk. But now, all I want to do is drink more. This is a scary thought.

It doesn't help that I'm not exactly the most stable person at the moment. I'm wishing, so bad, for it to be cold out. So that I can wear long-sleeved shirts again. Why do I want long-sleeves so bad? Use your imagination.

So I just want it to be winter, so I can cuddle up with some Jose Cuervo, my pencil sharpener, and my fantasy world. And maybe the Walking Dead. (Yeah, they finally put season three up on Netflix, just when I need to focus on homework most. Thanks, people behind Netflix. Thanks.)