Math

Can't believe the semester is already over, just about. English class brought us all such a unique and learning enriched experience.
Learning enriched. Hahahaha. That combination of words is just a little funny. Why I laugh.
I'll miss you Professor Swan and everyone! We'll all continue to see each other as friends I'm sure, even after our last day of class.
I still don't know what I want to do with my life career-wise. Damn it. Too many options. But I'd really like to take further physics classes. I sstill haven't taken that damned Aleks math placement test and I need a math class.
Math....

Unnerving facts

I urge you all to investigate the UFO phenomenon more thoroughly for yourselves. It's easy to deny it when all you interact yourself with are reasons as to why it's simply not possible that they exist at all. And let's be honest, most of the intellectual society it eager to prove how unnecessary it is to consider the possibility. One book in particular that I'm reading, called Dimensions, is absolutely fantastic. Yes, I've also read contradictory theories. Carl Sagan is an idiot, for all the intelligence he's supposed to have. I could go on and on, but like I said, look into it yourselves!
On another note, kind of..
Do you all trust the government? I sure as hell don't. I'm not insisting that we'll all be in concentration camps within the next year by our own military, but the government is undeniably sketchy as fuck. If you know the cold hard facts surrounding some of the popular conspiracy theories, you are probably in agreement with me. And the public as a whole is very naive in how little they admit to knowing about, but how much they cooperate and trust, the decisions of the U.S. government.
Lets get informed people, myself included.

Something I Found

I didn't intend to traverse these pages with my directly translated thoughts. Alas, my intentions are appearing more and more useless. Do you know why it's impossible to numerically arrange our every personal experience of happiness or fear or doubt? These feelings are stubbornly stored (it's certainly unlikely to ever locate where), and await expression by means of uniquely stimulating incidences. I am, therefore, as alone (not in the physical, obviously deducable sense) in this moment as I ever have been or ever will be. Is that foolishness? Can the sensation of passive solitude be categorized as an emotion?

I used to write often in a JOURNAL.. I've always refused to call it a diary. I think that's my tom-boy spirit speaking out. Or maybe it's the oart of myself that's always attempted to prove itself as "mature". I've never before more wished to shrink back into my youth. I know I'm still considered to be youthful at a mere nineteen, yet I feel so aged. Because my parents are so aged. I wish more than anything to see them young again. It frightens the shit out of me seeing them grow.. oldish. Wow, I got off track. That's my ADHD speaking out. Shut up, you unattentive spaz.
...And that's my schizophrenic side.
Anywho, my journal, yes, that's where I was. My journal is missing. I don't know where it is at any rate. I can't stand that I've lost so many of my writings. That's where most of my writing took place. So I suppose I took to writing my thoughts on random papers. Do you know how agitating it is to not know where something of such importance to yourself is?? My journal got lost when I got kicked out of my dorm last semester and they bagged up my shit, I was just hours late to retrieving it myself. Long story. But damn I do seem a trouble-maker, don't I? Well let me assure you.. "I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me."

what blahsh

What to write about.. what to write about..
I need a job.
I need motivation.
Gah, Apolline or Dyanisiac?
I don't even have a hobby. I can't bring myself to write on a regular basis.
It's like, no matter what I do, it's already been done.
Look at all the modern Da Vinci's.
This is very Donnie Darko, but I just hope that when it comes my time to die, I'll be smiling. Because there will be so much to look forward to.

I feel like time is slipping through my fingers. I'm sloppy, lazy, and unappreciative of the opportunities presented to me every day. Sometimes I almost wish I was native to a less priveliged country. Would I feel more alive if I were regularly fighting for my life? Would I feel more free if I was relieved of such a security blanketed land? If the materalistic obsessions were diluted of our society, due to a depression maybe we'd certainly value things differently. With the good nessecarily comes the bad. It's horribly inescapable. But that's just it, isn't? Everyone has to stop wishing for something different, no matter what the circumstances, and make the best of what they have. Easier said than done.

Babe

Opening my bathroom door, there she expectantly waits. She's my girl, she's my baby; but I found it difficult to call her my pet. With a painted black and white medium length coat and a black heart-shaped nose, Babe attracts adoring eyes. Oral communication consists of one repeated vocalization, varied only by pitch and volume. Her right eye literally wiggles in its socket, however slightly, likely a result of her unhealthy origin. This morning, I irritably
awoke to soft nuzzles and sand paper kisses. By my side constantly when I'm home, and the first to come to my rescue when one of our dogs causes trouble, my cat is one of the most special beings I've had the fortune to enjoy in my life.
The span of her life is troubling, and I'm more than completely certain that she will never be replaced.
I hope you all are lucky enough to have someone like Babe at any point in your time on earth.

Book Addiction

Does anyone else have an obsession with Harry Potter? The Harry Potter series was my portal to reading. I vaguely remember arrogantly making fun of Harry Potter geeks in elementary school (I now proudly proclaim myself Super Harry Potter Nerd) and not a year later I delved into the magical world myself. In remembrance, that was such a gift (from who, I haven't a clue), because without those dear books I wouldn't have discovered a vital part of myself. Writing ultimately manifested itself as a personal creative outlet that replenishes my soul as nothing else can. Books had little appeal to my physically energized little mind, despite unrelenting academic excellence, and lonely outdoor scavenges seemed the only means to soothe my adventurous needs. Had I not relented to to the tempting publications of Rowling, I doubtlessly would have outgrew my beloved bicycle only to find that I still had a hunger inside myself; surely I'd have found false nourishment in other harmful places. A cheap trinket I once came upon read "coffee is the last legal drug". Whoever created that (admittedly clever) phrase obviously hadn't succombed to the glorious addiction that only books can offer.

Separate

And the expulsion of vomit retched to its limit, dislodging embedded bullets and cleansing the body of foreign blood.

A separate self

Hermetically sealed in a pocket of space, where the air is energy, essence is solitary.

Fire curls in again and again

Release the suppressed mind, tend to the burn; expand the earth.

Words heard by me and my imaginary friend.

Me, you, the clown, and poison.

No, I'm not bulimic, as you might infer from the first two lines. Nor am I schizophrenic, as a strong feeling I was expressing at the time of this entry was one of having two "selves". I think more than anything that "Separate" conveys the loneliness emoted inside of every human being. That no matter how closely we entangle our bodies with another person, or how synchronized our personalities become with someone else’s, our confined minds don't escape their isolated cells. However, maybe we are all much more connected than we presume.