Don't

I don't deserve a lot of things in life. Simple as that, I just don't. But why are these things given me when I've done nothing in return? Better yet, I shouldn't say things. Sure, physical needs and security are prerequisites to self-actualization, so says Maslow's hierarchy. Yet, I disagree with that concept on some levels (though my analysis of the concept itself may be a misunderstanding.. forgive me for that). Physical needs. My parents always stress that you can't live without health, without it you're just a machine gone berserk. You won't last long.

But here's where I disagree. Yes, you can't live if you don't have health. But I can't see physical needs as the only foundation you have to build this so-called self-actualization. It's not the bottom layer, because it, too, falls.. and not just under its own faults. I don't think it's right to weigh emotional needs per physical needs. Neither can exist without the other, not for long anyway. Honestly, we need to love and be loved as much as we need food and water. Both assuage hunger but different types of hunger. We can't get the proper nutrients by only indulging in one. Empty stomach or empty heart? You'll never feel full.

End-

And here is where the randomosity ensues. The usual string of thoughts having no relevance to one another whatsoever.

A few more lines to go until finish. Post once revised.

There isn't any reason to go looking for someone to listen to you.

My dog has been so well-behaved compared to usual. I'm considering and it might work.

I supposedly took the pillow and stared at it in the middle of the night. Odd.

Night before, I had rather strange dreams. I was in a car at the end of the street. Street lights burnt out, perhaps. It appeared rather dark. There were these people standing there, they started throwing rocks and threats and foul words. Something along those lines. Then, on a road in the middle of nowhere. Nothing like the rural countryside and pastel colors and picket fences. The colors were dark, like it came out of an oil painting. Vivid and dark mountainside and farms, thunder lurking, slightest hint of inclement weather. It didn't scream out at you, persay, but just hung there in humid air. And there came a man riding an irish wolfhound. Just out of the blue.

How come, out of all the dreams I dream, I only remember the weird ones?

Okay. I'll be waking before midday tomorrow, hopefully. If early enough, to go to lab. Or, otherwise, to finish the last few lines. I really don't know where to end it though. Not yet. We'll see.