Library-madness.

Oh god, on the way into the library, this hot guy pushing around an empty cart totally caught me checking him out. And then of course, I did the obvious 'quickly look away' move. So he probably thinks I'm crazy. Speaking of crazy, I was walking behind this white guy who was dressed pretty ghetto. And I decided to mimic him, which I did for a little while before I realized that anyone else watching me would probably think I'm crazy, or stupid, or even worse; Crazy-stupid.

I like the library, if only because there are always so many people to watch. I like watching people, and I always come up with stories for their lives. Some of my friends think that's weird, but whatever. Like... I'm looking around... Well. There is a trio of people at a table. One older blonde male with glasses, and two younger hispanic looking females. They look like good friends, but the male looks a little out of the loop. He appears to be a nerd. I am sure that they are studying for finals.

From this short analysis I come up with this:

This guy is older and single and has never had a girlfriend. He is 20-something, and still lives with his parents. He has found this small group that allow him to hang out simply because he is smart. The girls are young and conniving; they have just graduated. They found this old nerd that they can seduce into helping them in class. Next semester they'll drop him like a year old sack of potatoes.

While that isn't so original, it's something.

Here goes.

Someone from my old highschool died this weekend in a car accident. Apparently he hydroplaned and flipped the car. It's said that this knocked him unconcious. The car then caught on fire. Um. And he died.

I barely knew him. I had one class with him in 11th grade, and I remember that he was a prep. I also remember that he was nice. I'm not particularly affected by this death.
There are always those people that, when they come in contact with death, feel the need to shout out loud about how much they miss the deceased. The same thing happened when Arnold comminted suicide two years ago. The same thing happened when three people accidentally died, on three different occasions, three years ago. At least, I think it was three years.
The point is, I never understood why people pray for the deceased. Aren't they past praying? Why didn't anyone pray for them before they died?

Today before work, I said a little prayer for him. I asked the Goddess to watch over him as he made his way to wherever he is meant to go. I also asked her to watch over those that are truly affected by his death. But I still didn't understand why people pray for the deceased.

At around 11 o'clock, my best friends Yma and Vicki came in. Vicki knew the boy, and she had been shocked when we initially discussed it. She came into tonight, and her voice was wracked with tension. "Make me coffee!" she said. It sounded like she was sobbing. I laughed and asked why. She said, "My friend died yesterday and I have to pull an all-nighter tonight!" She then completely and utterly broke down, and fell into Yma's arms, sobbing. I was stunned. So, I did what I had to do. I pulled out a venti cup, and made her a gingerbread latte, with an extra shot of espresso. I then hugged her, picked her up, and sat her down on the comfy chairs.

Now I know. People may pray for the deceased, but they really pray for those who have lost their strength. And that's why I lit this candle tonight.

Life is short.

Or at least mine is. I really don't see myself living past a certain point. I plan on dying young. Well, it's not necessarily a plan. Anyway, everyone knows this; I have an intense fear of being old. So if my life is so short, why should I go to college? I can live it more fully if I live on my own, right? Sure that sounds good, but it really isn't. In order to support myself, I'd have to work full-time. I can't do that and be happy. When I work full-time(like in the summer), I lose my spirituality and my sense of love. These things need to be cultivated. Why do you think hermits make such great philosophers? Living on campus, with my parents paying for everything, will grant me the time and peace to learn. I learn so much about myself when I'm not busying myself with making money. It really does take alot out of you. So, I am going to go. I am going to learn. Learn about myself, learn about others, learn about the world. learnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearnlearn.

Change.
I'm just sitting here,
counting my change.
And as I count,
it strikes me that there are
two kinds of change.

I am counting money. Coins.
But I really should focus my efforts
on the other kind.
The kind that changes lives.
The kind that kills.
The kind that saves.
You know.
Change.

Make pride.

"Don't disappoint me," she says. It's more of a warning really. "Don't disappoint me, or you're getting a bus pass and you're going to U of H." Like going to the University of Houston is a punishment.
We sit there in silence, while the television plays muted german programs. The cliches come out. "I'm at the end of my rope; I don't know what do to get through to you; I feel like I'm talking to a wall."
My head is empty. This should be the perfect state of mind for meditation, yet I'm compelled to pay attention. "I know." I say. "I'm just lazy." I say. These answers are the truth, yet there's more I'm hiding. "I'm depressed." I should say. "I need counseling."
We tactfully avoid the subject of my brother until we run out of things to say. "Don't think that he's much better," she avoids my eyes and picks up her knitting. "He's just as bad. You may help out around the house and I really appreciate that. But he's better with his money."
"And his grades." I intone. All the important things, we both think. There's no hard feelings though.
"Make me proud." she commands. "Go study. Prove to me and yourself that you can succeed and have a good life." I gather my things and head to the stairs.
"Don't disappoint me." she says.
"Don't disappoint me." she warns.