From my journal:
Chicago: 3:37 AM
Tehran: 1:07 PM

I'm trying to listen to my music to help me, and it just seems to be making me feel worse. I don't feel good, I'm not hungry, the scene with a rooster that was still one piece and looked like a beheaded rooster. I think it was a rooster. It might have been a chicken. Whatever it was it basically made me feel sick. I've become very faint-hearted like that. If it still looks like the animal, I can't eat it, and if I see it I basically lose my appetite. Now Mamanzari and Bababozorg are mad at me because as soon as I saw the chicken I ran from the table and when I returned a minute later I refused to eat anything. Now I feel even worse because I was a brat. I guess I can't be away from home more than 23 days. I guess I've found my limit and exceeded it. I just want to be at home in my bed with Sandy next to me and the covers all messed up sleeping, having non-REM sleep. I seem to be having more dreams here, and REM sleep usually has dreams, and you don't wake up feeling as refreshed.
Right now I have little purple bags under my eyes as well. It's a pretty color, but nor for under my eyes.
My feet have also swollen up a bit and now my pink shoes don't fit and they got a tear in them where they've sorts separated from the sole because they are too small. I should've gotten a 6.5.
I want to be home. Maybe if I put on my pink sparkly shoes and on (pink is a tint of red) and tap my heels together three times saying "There's no place like home," I'll appear in my bedroom.
- salam az Mar @ 3:37 AM