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Life sucks and then you die.
youapos;re born, youapos;re raised, you go to school. You work on an education until youapos;re 20ish. To learn what? a profession. You work at this to make money, and throw the money around to buy possessions and still things that you think will make you happy.

everyone idolizes that house. That biiiig house. And maybe you can have kids and put them in that lovely house you bought. Then you work your whole life even harder to support these kids who often wonapos;t respect you at all until they are older. And on top of that, you make them follow the same pattern that youapos;re in. School and work, make money, buy things.

and who knows if peopleapos;s offspring will eventually even be able to survive with all this global warming toxic planet shit that we throw around. And we donapos;t even do anything about trying to fix it, people just sit there and talk about fixing it and make money taking about it.

and then, when youapos;re finally done working and making money, you retire, and deteriorate in peace, when you really should have been enjoying your life all along, but no, itapos;s now that you rest and look back on all the things that you did. Now that youapos;re incapable of simple things like walking. Then a lot of us will just get thrown in a home where people get paid to take care of us until we die. And maybe itapos;d be like tuesdays with morrie, these young people learning things from the old wise dying people. But whatapos;re they going to do with it anyways? theyapos;ll use i to live their life that will eventually end just like ours.

itapos;s a huge cycle and one day, as much as weapos;d hate to believe it, itapos;s going to end because weapos;re just animals on a rock in the middle of an expanding universe. And some people try to use their education for a profession of trying to figure out why weapos;re here, which is something that weapos;ll probably never even figure out. And why bother, because everything you say, do, and think probably wonapos;t even matter someday because this is all going to be gone. Weapos;re all just going to be a part of the rock in the middle of nowhere that we somehow sprang up from and lived our lives.

some people make big impacts on the world. Their name goes down in history. The things that they said and did and thought are still remembered and studied today. And it plants a seed in every person, telling them that maybe they could have a chance to make a difference in the world. Iapos;d love to do that, and iapos;d love to do it by helping people, but i just donapos;t see the point in that, or in anything, if lifeapos;s always going to be a harsh struggle and itapos;s all just going to be gone anyways.

iapos;d say itapos;d be easier to just get it over wiht now, to just die and be something that doesnapos;t matter because thatapos;s probably what iapos;m going to eventually be someday anyways. But i still feel like thereapos;s something out there that i want to live for. Thereapos;s something that has to not be pointless and careless that i can work with.

the thing that sucks is, i canapos;t put my finger on it and i feel like itapos;s out of reach. Maybe life is just a journey to find that one thing you want in it. I hope someday i do, and i hope that someday everyone does, because if life is lived without at least one thing to love, then it shouldnapos;t have been lived at all.

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I find myself having no desire to be date. I canapos;t really say for the future.
But staying single forever does not seem an odd choice for me.
I think itapos;s totally fine and logical. With all the cares you put into a family, you have so little time for anything else. I want to extend the definition of family to those not of blood relations, but to those those brethren in Christ. And a life without a male counterpart does not appear to be so disastrous for me as well. All the more, it seems less of a hassle for me, to remain faithfully true to my husband and to perform the role of a feeble wife in need of some brawniness from man.

I am happy God made the way I am.

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I was telling my friend the other day that even though I am an adult, I have to be careful about when I watch True Blood at home because I really donapos;t need my family walking in on a vampire orgy going on or something similarly smutty. AWKWARD.

So today my mom came in the room asking me if the girl in The Piano with Holly Hunter is Anna Paquin, and if so, is she the girl who plays Sookie in True Blood? Yep, thatapos;s her. It turns out my momapos;s a fan of the show, loves "how apos;southernapos; it is and even its gothic elements [which Iapos;m assuming means the vampires?)," and her favorite character is Sookieapos;s best friend Tara.

I lolapos;ed. But itapos;s still AWKWARD. Iapos;m not about to watch it with her or anything...

Iapos;m about four episodes behind on the show now and though the show is more raunchy than Iapos;m usually comfortable with, itapos;s enjoyable. Besides, Anna Paquin is too adorable (I miss her Rogue hair though.). :)
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When you look through your photos you have some associations or memories connected to them. You look just at the photo, but you see everything outside it, you remember what others were talking about, what mood did you have, what did you eat in the morning...

I like to look through somebodyapos;s else photos very much. Especially traveling photos. For a moment a photo becomes your eyes into another world, each picture is a bright splash, an impression, a flash, a moment... You see only that what you see with your eyes and itapos;s hard to imagine that you will feel the same with photoapos;s author.

thatapos;s why photos should be caught smartly, not like a random clicking all around. It requires searching of some kind of center, some kind of sense. Only then your photos will be interesting to look at. Only then you will start seeing something apos;behindapos; the picture...
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There are times in everyoneapos;s life when theyapos;d be better off just leaving well enough alone. Unfortunately for me, Iapos;d gotten worse about recognizing that fact after Iapos;d died -- I hadnapos;t felt at peace, Iapos;d felt curious. An insatiable need to know circumstances, and not just my own. A compulsion to help make things better for other people.

After the breakfast debacle, I really should have known better.

It was common knowledge on the island that the rec room bookcase enjoyed screwing with people. If it had something it wanted you to read or watch, chances were that youapos;d not be afforded the opportunity to read or watch anything else until you gave in. It had only happened to me once before -- After Masonapos;s disappearance -- and Iapos;d become complacent about the possibility of what it might choose to give me.

I should make one thing clear: For someone who was supposed to be clever and experienced, I could be really stupid sometimes.

It was the morning after the masked ball at New Pemberley, and half the island was still tucked in bed after a long night of dancing and socializing. Iapos;d made a brief appearance and had gone home early, and had spent the better part of the morning baking and enjoying the temporarily subdued atmosphere of the Compound. After my last batch of pumpkin spice muffins was finished, Iapos;d headed into the rec room to grab something to read, thought I might carry it back to the boat and spend a lazy day lounging around in the sun.

Color me surprised, then, to find myself faced with shelf after shelf of film cans, and a growing sense of dread. Fleetingly, Iapos;d thought that maybe this was finally the day that the island decided to show me I was fictional, but as soon as Iapos;d pulled a can out and read the label, I knew that was unlikely. "Band of Brothers" sounded as inappropriate a name for my life as I could imagine. Iapos;d had one brother, not an entire band of them.

After a few momentapos;s consideration, I steeled myself and decided to give in. If the shelf wanted me to see this, there wasnapos;t much else I could do about it, anyway. Better to just square my shoulders and get on with it. How bad could it be?

Again, I remind you that I was really stupid sometimes.

"Episode Seven," the label read. "The Breaking Point." That sounded plenty ominous, but it didnapos;t make much sense to start with episode seven, so I shelved the can and pulled out another. And another. And another after that. The whole damned case was filled with episode seven, and my creeping sense of dread was back.

"Okay," I murmured to the shelf, film can in hand. "I get the message. Episode seven it is." A deep breath, and I was headed downstairs to fetch the projector.

Even on a lazy Sunday, the rec room would be busy, so I set the projector and screen up in the basement storeroom, across the room from the radio equipment. It seemed like a good place for it -- I could keep the room dark, Iapos;d have relative privacy, and I spent enough time down there listening to records that if somebody needed to find me, it was a probable place to look. I tugged the chair over from the DJ table, swallowed hard once to brace myself, and switched the projector on.

HBO, of all things, and how incredibly strange it was to see that logo projected on a movie screen instead of a television. There was no title sequence, no explanation of what the hell I was about to watch, just the immediate cutting to an old man, talking about death, like a documentary, and for a minute I was really confused. But then I saw it, on the wall behind him -- The paratrooper logo, 506, E -- and I swear to God my stomach dropped right out.

There were no names, so I didnapos;t know who that was, or any of the old men that followed -- Did I know these guys? Surely none of them were George, the accent wasnapos;t right. Why wasnapos;t the damned thing telling me who they were? What kind of half-assed documentary were you running here, HBO?

Music swelled and there were titles, finally, and you just canapos;t imagine the feeling of watching something like that and seeing your boyfriend and his friends up there, clear as anything, and I was feeling a whole lot of things, but confusion was the most prevalent. Well, that and anxiety. What could I do, though? So I just sat there, literally poised on the edge of my seat, my entire body tense, a hand pressed over my chest with my heart beating hard beneath my fingers.

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We played OKTOBERFEST II this evening, our first Hubba Hubba show since... Well, Oktoberfest I It was a great show, the energy was really positive and I brought in a guy from last weekapos;s benefit to register people to vote during the show (thank you Roger Weinman). But the thing that really set this evening apart was tonight marked the triumphant return to the LPN stage of LESLIE PRESLEY

She and I had been planning it ever since my fatherapos;s service but we wanted to keep it quiet for maximum impact. It really worked When I started to sing Baby Wonapos;t You Please Come Home and she came down the stairs behind me I could see the faces in the crowd light up. She sounds as great as ever and it was swell to share the stage with her again. The Nails were pleased as well.

Iapos;ll post photos (and video) as they become available.
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Itapos;s been three months since I moved to Boston.
I couldnapos;t be more anxious not to be living with Sarahapos;s relatives anymore. And in a nice apartment, not that trashy place we lived in in Richmond.

Iapos;ve gotten stuck into a routine that Iapos;m not fond of. Iapos;m not getting very much out of it.
I find myself repeating a lot of mistakes. I just donapos;t seem to be able to focus on anything more constructive.
Iapos;m not contributing to society properly at the moment. I feel pretty much lost in myself. Itapos;s hard to break out when Iapos;m like this - the rest of the world doesnapos;t want to deal with me. My parents didnapos;t want to deal with me.

Iapos;m so tired of trying to learn everything on my own and failing everytime. It feels like I havenapos;t made anymore progress than I had when I was 10.
I have no idea how to hold a conversation with anyone now. Iapos;ve been pissing people off more often than not. Or getting the wrong flow of conversation, I dunno.
Iapos;ve been casting a lot of doubt upon my future. Basically I had more ego than I was used to this week, and it all came crashing down rather harshly.
Itapos;s hard to find that steady level of self-confidence thatapos;s always where you need it to be.
Maybe I donapos;t understand the whole concept of actual self-confidence.
I never really did grow up with a proper image of myself. I was always trying to fit in as an underdog...which doesnapos;t work most of the time.
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