Tuesday, January 22, 2002

I just want to write and write and write and write. But I'm tired, and I know I will be tired in the morning. I feel behind on my life, though I'm not. I'm finding myself very boring lately, and the more I think about it, I know that I don't have much to say, I just want the satisfaction of letting something out.

I still can't seem to get over the three+ deaths I found out about on Friday. I can't shake the vapid demeanor that was borne of that day. Especially the image of the freshman girl who committed suicide.

It's all too real.

Do you ever stop what you're doing, hold the position you're in, and move only your eyes--looking around at the scene you're a part of? Taking in how still or moving everything is compared to yourself and what it must look like to see the scene you're a part of? I do.