I bought a new diary as the present one is left with 5 blank pages. Yeah, and the new book does not have any lines. The stupid bookshop did not sell any spiral-ring notebooks with lines in them. I went to the mall after school to get some stamps. I waited for 15 minutes just to get stamp, and I'm too stupid to figure that the self-automated machine sells stamps. Oh well.
I dreamt of Ian last night. We talked, on ICQ or face-to-face, I can't remember. He had a car. I asked him where he lived, and he replied, further down the rich people's section (which also happens to be where The Restaurant is located). It's all hazy; the next thing I remember, I was with my family. Ian is in his car, with the engines running, and looking at me, as if he's watching over me.
Next scene: I was in my room, seated at my desk. I was writing him a letter. I never got to finish it.
I talked about him in this entry. It is a weird dream, and not a pleasant one. It's tame enough, and nice, but I'd rather not have bloody Ian creeping into my dreams, if you don't mind. I'd rather dream about someone like, Joaquin or Gem or whoever. Even the teacher who taught me English in Sec 2 is preferrable. I don't understand the dream. I never understand my dreams, except for this dream I had when I was 14 that also involved Ian. I don't feel like talking about it right now, but it was kind of prophetic and a relevation.
Well hell, what the heck do I know, anyway? What stupid relevation? I'm still kept in the dark. He could be dead. If he's not, he's 19, and hence, he's in the army. But still. I wish someone would tell me what happened to him.
All these thinking is making my head hurt. Title from: "The Salaman's Song" (I think) by Jim Carroll.