It's been a little while, but I'm writing again. I've been writing in this handy little notebook that I carry around with me, so I haven't had use for the computer lately. The exception of which being "web-registering" for my classes this semester, which has been painfully difficult. I've been out a lot too. Not doing anything, just out. I haven't really been able to sleep well until last night, where I slept from 12am until 1:30 today, and I certainly would have slept longer if I hadn't been awakened by my friend. She didn't really startle in me into alertness so much as the shirt she was sporting. It had Winnie the Pooh (What the hell is a "pooh"? I don't understand) and Tigger on it, and they were wearing "Santa hats" and the words "Merry Christmas" read below them as they seemed to dance. Weird and ugly. So the first thing I groggily said this morning was, "Where the hell did you get that shirt?" It was the epitome of everything I hate in clothing. Almost everything. I suppose if it were a sweatshirt or velvety material I might have abhorred it more. Anyway, everything is pretty much well with me. I've been really depressed this week. Just lonely and horribly bored with this town. But I'm going out of town tomorrow, and I'm hoping to go to Pittsburg this Monday, so maybe that will be refreshing. Let's hope so.

My final exam starts in about 40 minutes. That means it'll all be ovre soon. And I can sleep like a bear in hybernation. Oh Man, I am tired and hurty. Body is rejecting itself and I feel like shit. Assuming that since shit is generally disgusting, it feels really miserable all the time. 39 minutes. Better go.

But I suppose maturity levels have nothing to do with acting like a child. By acting like a child I mean, playful and happy. There is something depressing about striving to be percieved as older. Maybe people just act that way because they are that way. But pretentious people bother me like nothing else. Where's the fun? I can see it, but it doesn't seem too enticing to me. Where's the laughter? With the exception of that towards others who are less than brilliant. We act so smart. Like we know so much, and we are so interesting and thoughtful, analitical and open-minded. We are adults who know all. Why can't people just let go of all that every once in a while. By that I don't mean any sort of sedative either. Honestly, we all know how to act old, and with that in mind, and the fact that we do act old when we need to, why can't our minds race and our laughter echo. Everyone has to act proper. But I think that it's those people who, although seem to be "getting it right" in their own minds, are the ones who are missing the point entirely. And that point is living. Chosing to fret instead. Chosing to settle. Chosing to waiste a precious life. Growing old and realizing that all that time they spent worrying about doing or saying the right thing, acting the right way, presenting themselves as responsible, mature adults was a horrible waiste of time and effort. Maturity and dignity aren't the issue, having a good time and realizing your age is what should be considered. Where's the humility anymore? No one can admit to their wrongs. No one can take a step back and see where they fell. It's all about fitting in. Ya right.

In a feeble attemt to regain any peace that she once had, she started to type again. Thinking about nothing and everything. Had she really been to work that night, and talked to the strangest people, and come to all those conclusions? I think so. There wasn't much to say anymore. It had all been said, and was about to be revised and listened to, but all was lost, and turned into a box in the corner of the screen. The issues that were touched were that of a man, acting the part of a child, even though, in all reality, he still was one. But we excellerate the maturing process so much these days. Well, not everyone, but those who see it do. A world were the children hate childhood. Striving to something new. Pushing for the possition of the wise, but posessing no wisdom. He was a child. His eyes were those of a child, wandering and hopeful. Or maybe he had managed to hold onto those feelings and dreams, whereas we have all been raped of those. You won't see these eyes sparkle any longer. But what was he doing? Where was he, and how had he managed to get here? And at the same time I saw in the face next to me something grand. I can't think to explain it now. But I've found that there is somthing that people must do to achieve affectionate reconition in my heart. I can't think of what it is. But tonight I realized it in the eyes of a friend. Eyes that poured out a connection that I recieved and sent back with warmth. So now I see it clearly, and the vail has been lifted, and revealed a clear night sky. I'll make sense later. Now's not the time.