Even though they were kind and helpful, I can't help but think that they’re hiding something from us.
I had the whole second story for myself. There was the master bedroom and bathroom, a study and game room, and a large closet.
Mom let me have the upstairs. She has acrophobia, or fear of heights, and it's pretty severe. She won't go on any other level of a building, planes, amusement park rides, etc. It was shocking how she was able to be on a plane without freaking out. Well, we had to hire a hypnotist, and surprisingly, it worked.
And she has this weird thing with nets*, but it's not important.
The packing wasn't finished, but I was exhausted by midnight. I just passed out on my unmade bed, with piles of books and papers surrounding me.
It's completely dark. I can't see anything. I'm so scared.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
I woke up the next morning with my newly installed alarm clock going off. I reluctanly got up and went over to my dream diary.
When I was little, I had so many nightmares, and no one could tell me why. I wasn't repressing any traumatic experience, nor was it something I ate. Anyway, I was taken to a psychiatrist to see what was wrong. He recommended that I kept a dream diary to record my dreams. After a year, the nightmares stopped, but I kept the diary, out of habit.
But when I tried to remember what my dream was about, nothing came to mind. Not wanting to be late for my first day of school, I just put away the diary and took a shower.
i would kill you, but your dead to me >.<