Today, I woke up at 4. I dreamed that the premature chick we found on Thursday was alive and well, and it had grown up to be a bird and it flew past us and we said goodbye to it. Just like in one of those cheesy compre passages. It felt so real, I thought it was. Since I'm a person with very little distinction between reality and imagination.

When Percia came home today, she said she went to check on the chick at the place where we left it. It had died for real. Ants were attacking it and its head was all mashed up. I don't know how long I sat there, frozen, trying to comprehend that it WAS dead. And maybe we should have taken it home and fed it, even if Pa said not to let 'that bloody disgusting thing come into my house, I warn you'. It would probably have survived then.

Maybe my dream was a way of comforting myself, of satisfying myself and telling me I'd done enough. A fallacy.

Or maybe it was a sign that the chick had gone on to somewhere better because it had received our prayers for that short bit of its poor life.

I'm not sure about anything anymore. I feel like I killed it. I feel like a really terrible person. I don't know. I'm not sure if I even want to know.

Why am I such a freak?!