There was these small tree stumps available, and literally nothing else. Its fine; I have opportunity to build her something traditional or something wacky, like a cross made of PVC and weird pinnacles and such.

But I think I'll stick to something traditional. She deserves it.

I was a bit crazy on my last post, and I apologize. I was outside the gate near her grave when C. just said:
"Dude, even ######6 Muslims have 24 hours."

Mom took her in to be "Put to sleep" around 3:15, and I assume it was 3:45-4:00 when she died. With C.'s thinking, I am trying to bury her in the same day she died, like muslims, except I'm thinking in DAY day's, not REALITY days. In this scenario, the day ends at midnight, and thats the cutoff for a proper burial. Thats my psychosis.

With C, he's thinking reality: I have until 3:45 PM tomorrow at the earliest to get everything proper (4PM latest). I'll have time to plan, get some cash together to buy wood from Lowes up the street, make letters, get nails, and make the ground more sturdy.

Recently, some of the younger folks on the forums have been asking "Are these guys (re: alters) real? Am I just a good actor? Do I just have an overactive imagination?". The fact is if your in a state of utter psychosis like I just was (my dog died and I only had an hour to bury her, and NOW, almost midnight, I think its suddenly the right time to retry) and another person can calm you down and make you think rationally, and theres no one but yourself physcially around you? They're real. And if they're helpful and awesome like I am to them, and they are to me, it all works. So if this happens (And it will happen eventually. I got a major life shock today I thought I never would: Life is tough, so get over it), don't panic. Listen to them, and it'll work out for the best.

It always does. I can feel it getting better right now. And with that, I'm going to finish watching "Wilfred" on Hulu (EP. 11) and go to bed. Goodnight, everyone!

I've begun my mourning, already. Its 11 PM, and I'm going outside to build her a cross that says Kedsie on the horizontal bar.

And if my mom comes out to stop me, I'm going to ######6 blow up. I honestly don't care if I wake the neighbors. Its damn well worth it to me to celebrate her life.

My dog Kedsie (or Kedzie, your pick), a purebred beagle, was put to sleep today. I had to bury her in the backyard. I was expecting her to come home with my mom (Who was sobbing like crazy, understandably), and I was half expecting her to be in a bag, y'know, not to upset the woman who had to drive 20 miles back and forth with a dying-to-dead dog.

My mom held her and pet her in her final moments, while the vet told her that after the shot was given, she would twitch a little, then just fall to "sleep".

When she arrived home, her mouth was open, curved near the bottom, her face beat red. I knew off the bat I'd have to carry her to the grave I just spent the last hour digging midst a smooth layer of rocks and hard dirt that hadn't been penetrated by nothing but weeds in the last decade or so, especially where I buried her; behind the neighbors grapes.

Halfway through my digging, my neighbor David said "How ya doin, buddy? Hadn't talked to ya in a while." David shot Kedsie a year ago, to shut her up. She was barking at a squirrel that was hiding in a tree, when suddenly *POP*, small casing in her front left paw. Lei, the foreign exchange student living with us, noticed that Kedsie was hopping around, and called my mom. She came home, and saw that poor Kedsie was hurt bad. She knew who did it, since David is one of "Those neighbors" that yell at our dogs barking too loudly. I like him, but my mom loathes him because of his attacks on our dogs.

We talked for a good 5 minutes. He started ranting about how we have become socialists, and how, when he lived in California, everyone was just asking for handouts; no real work done, essentially. I was about to go back to digging, when Gail, his lovely wife, came up to me. She grabbed my hands and said "I'm so sorry". Her hands were ice cold.

"I've been washing fruit and veggies inside" she said.

Earlier, my mom, before getting in the car to take Kedsie to the vet, yelled at Gail for her husbands attack on Kedsie a year earlier.
"YOU AND YOUR HUSBAND CAN DRINK WELL TONIGHT, BECAUSE THE DOG HE SHOT IS DYING."

We talked for 15 minutes. I wanted to talk about what was going on with her, cause I hadn't truly spoken to her in a year and a half. But she seemed like she was avoiding some topic. Finally, it came up:
"You know, our dog died 2 months ago."
I didn't notice; they had 5 or 6 Yorkshire Terriers that would bark at anything that moved in the front or both side yards. My moms view on their dogs was essentially the same David had for ours: They're annoying little devils, those bastards. Wish they'd all just shut up. That was the opinion on both sides of the fence, with Gail and I just in the middle, forced to side with husband or mother. Yeah. Those bastards.

I went back to digging. I was planning to dig a good 6 feet under, as is tradition, and she deserved the best. But, in the hour I tried digging, I could only make a small 2'x4' wide gap about 3' deep. Possibly 4'. But I did try. I wanted to try and go for as long as possible without using water to soften the ground, but whenever I hit rocks or topsoil that was harder than usual, I feared I had hit a pipe. Finally, I just said "Screw it" and filled in the gap I had dug so far (at the time, about 2'x3' wide, 2' deep" with water. It just stayed there; I figured it would spread and soak the other parts of the dirt, making everything around it softer. It didn't. So I just dug more, moving this soaked dirt onto a pile so it'd be easier to rake onto the body later. In the end, it was a pretty nice grave. I wish I had more time to work on it, but I only had an hour, and my mom would not wait.

She arrived. When she got out, her mouth was open, curved at the bottom. I hugged her for a good 20 seconds, while she just said
"She was a great dog, a beautiful, wonderful little dog".
C. wanted to ask her about a week ago, when she said
"That...

[ Continued ]

I just read a bunch of blogs by my fellow DID-ers (Or, as TK calls ALL OF THEM, his "Brothers"), and mostly all of them are about their DID. Mine are all about life and my issues, usually with a stupid twist of not funny side-material that would never make anyone laugh in real life.

Is this bad? Should I talk more about my alters and my life in general, or be the odd man out and only discuss myself and my alters daily lives through terrible humor?

"Damn. If this were Sophies Choice, it'd be a lot shorter of a movie." -Howard Wolowitz, not a doctor.

Subtle, again. But AWESOME:
http://iliana.us/jamie-beck-candle.gif