I Don't Think You All Quite Understood Me

I said these women are optimistic and saccharine. I meant... exactly that. They were expecting things to go wrong, I don't think they were expecting things to go this wrong. Or if they had accounted for this margin of error... then they were expecting to get out of it. To get lucky.

We don't get lucky in this little world of ours.

We just don't. We get the odds stacked against us and have to make due with that. We have to deal with tumbling issues and dying friends and aching deep sadnesses as we watch them fade into their end. As we contemplate if we caused this, if it's all our fault. (What am I saying? It's always my fault.)

Tia's still not talking. She's sad and scared and a little broken. I, personally, think we need to stop to visit a spirit healer on our way out and while Lis is up for anything and everything, Tia's a skeptic. It's also too fresh to heal. She wants to feel the ache more. But if anything, I know that we need to heal quickly or shit will never get done.

Experience is a bitch. Then you die?

Is that even a remotely appropriate statement?

I think I'm just going to go... I've got more to say... but not right now. Not at all right now.

Sleepless in the Waiting Room

I'm not sleeping. Chilled out is not the phrase that I would use for me, though Lis seems to think it appropriate (that's cute).

I did meet a guy in the caf last night. I think he had the hots for me. Totally drooling the whole time. Totally worthless. A waste of my time.

Sarcasm. I have it.

The doctor's are whispering things. They think no one can hear. They think we're asleep. They want to save Tia. Not the baby. It's too early on to save the baby. There's really no hope for it. Webbed toes and fingers and incomplete organs.

And it's pretty much not going to make it. Too complex. Black blood everywhere. It's started to die in the womb. And it could kill Tia.

I've said too much.

Tia doesn't know.

She's still K.O.

Lucky me. First to know, and no way to fix the situation.

Just Under the Weather...

Right. Just a little less then pretty. Of course. Everything's recoverable. We can make it through this shit. Of course we can. We always do. Nothing's really wrong so long as we don't acknowledge that anything's really wrong.

...The mums' are the worst understaters of the goddamn century. Everyone should know that. If you were unaware, please make yourself aware now.

I knew we were too quiet. I knew that It was closing in. That thing. That thing that brings down both the flood and the flame. It's been watching too long. Too long. And they were being too happy, thinking about the baby and names for Her. Because now we know. We know it's a she.

Cecelia. That's the name I'm voting for.

...I'm trying to be optimistic. I'm trying to let the mums' positive attitude rub off on me. I'm trying to learn new tricks. I'm not even close to old yet.

But it's not working.

We have to get out of this hospital. Tia's stuck. The doctors won't let her leave. There are complications. We're stuck hoping they'll work themselves out. And Tia's having fits.

She sees It. I see It. Lis feels It. It's everywhere. We have to go. Go before It takes something precious. I need a friend. But I haven't got a friend in the world I could call on.

A Bad Case of the Restless

The mums are... sorta really optimistic. I'm just going to let you all know right here: this is Me. I am not an optimist. And no, I'm not a realist either. I'm one helluva down-in-the-dumps pessimist. I think shit's going to fall to shit even when it's all going alright, because usually... that's right when it all falls to hell in the worst way.

But the mums aren't of that blood. They think better of the world and people and still have some tiny faith in circumstance. I guess maybe it's because they have each other. It's all saccharine like that.

M'gonna get diabetes or some shit travelling with these women. Not. Even. Kidding.

But unfortunately being a pessimist also means that I see the things hat my optimistic friends won't see sometimes. Like I know they pick up on shit that I miss entirely.

But there's something not comfortable and slimy and disgusting closing in. It's familiar. I know it. It stinks. No matter how fast we move. It follows. It closes in. The mums wouldn't like me talking or typing or whatevering like this. It's not a good attitude to keep.

But the paint-splattered mum's been Dreaming. She hasn't posted about it yet, she thinks you all will think she's nutters or mad or out of her head or a thousand and one things I have been called in every family unit I have ever had.

But the Old Chief (may he rest well) would call Lis for what she is: Dreamer. And that's a scary and big and terrible responsibility and fate. And Them That Dream are usually also Them That Have Big Fates. Not usually the sort that can hide well in the background.

Well they can try. Paint-splattered Mum does her best. It's better than a lot could manage. But maybe the Thing That Stalks likes her and hers so much because of the Dreamings. Or maybe it will be the Thing That Stalks that will force her to meet her fate. Fate is a big word for only four letters. Y'know?

And here I am, all of sixteen and barely educated trying to explain to you all what Fate means. What it meant to Old Chief and all the things he tried to teach me before... well anyway.

Anyway.

The point is, don't ignore the Dreamers or their Dreamings. Because I know damned well the Things That Never Sleep won't be ignoring them. They'll be as familiar as they like with the Dreamers. And their People.

Grumpy Mum and I are here to stay though. It's been a while since anyone made me feel like I belong. And I think Grumpy Mum can relate to that feeling right there.

And now I'm getting Looks for being all emotional and typing over here. They suspect the revealing nature of my post. I'm hitting submit now.

To Clarify

They've given me this laptop for free! And it's, like, freaking retarded powerful. At least that's what the internet says. But like, they just gave it up. I'm going to guess that has something to do with the source of said laptop (I've been reading the backlogs, the mums have been through some hell I see), but even so!

I've been reading through the backlogs. And the mums have been through their hell. I hardly see reason for them to trust me, a stranger, but they took me in.

AND THE GRUMPY MUM EVEN SAYS I'M GROWING ON HER.

Madness. Serious. Madness. But I guess that's what happens when you give a pregnant woman just what she's craving when she's craving it. And try it too. Pickles and peanut butter. Well, it was odd, but not that bad I guess? It could have been worse.

Other thing of mention: the spoiling doesn't stop at the laptop. They took me shopping. For clothes. They offered for make-up, but Awonawilona knows I've enough of that from years of practice with my five-finger discount. My make-up bag never leaves me.

I guess they'd like me to stop that if I'm traveling with them, the five-finger discount part, not the make-up part, so I guess I can do the mums that much at least. I mean, they're providing for me, out of their own pockets. Generosity has never been really in my vocabulary before. And if it weren't for spell-check I wouldn't know how to spell it. That's for sure.

But yeah.

These women are weird. But I think they might be growing on me too.

What the Hell are these Women Even On?!

First and foremost: these bitches be crazy.

No seriously. They run up and fetch a kid from the arms of the Slender Fuck and straight up drag that kid off. And yeah, that part hurt a bit. But they were still stubborn enough to do it.

So the tall woman mumbles about all the strays and generosity and the never worrying about the self, but she totally bends under the little one's words. It's kinda quaint. I never got the opportunity to really see people being all 'cute'. It wasn't exactly an option. Whatever. I'm not bemoaning my lack of social exposure.

I hear she's called Tia, and the other Lissie. I'm renaming them.

Respectfully, "Grumpy Mum" and "Paint-Splattered Mum." I think these are more appropriate callings. And besides, despite me only running with 'em a few days now, they treat me real nice.

Haven't been treated this nice since I was in school - an' hell was that a while ago. Actually, since I was with the tribe, and that was even longer ago. So I guess that's why I think the mums are crazy. Because they are. For treating a stranger-orphan-homeless kid so nice. I suppose in my backhanded way I wanna thank them for at least temporarily dragging me with them, so I'm making myself useful and cleaning up after them in their truck and stuff. I don't have shit else to do anyway.

And the grumpy mum needs a little extra support - despite what she says or claims or whatever.

Second, I guess I should introduce myself. They talked about me. Or the paint-splattered mum did. And she alluded to some things. About some tough topics. But I really don't know if I should go into all that yet.

Until further notice I guess I should give you a name.

Kailin. Not Kai. Not Lin. Not Kail. Not anything else. Kailin Lusio. And I am me. Does anything else really matter?