Been listening to more Great Lake Swimmers recently. It's very nice, melancholy music – it suits me. I like the hauntingly poetic and beautiful things in life. I think that that preference is sometimes mistaken for adolescent angst or some other stupid, stereotyped outlook. . . it's not that at all.

I feel like discussing my life on a grander scale. I've always had some idea of what I wanted to do with my life. It's not really all that hard, is it? Life boils down into simple choices, and the details fall into place in accordance with your personality. But I wonder, can a person really know what is going to make them happy? If that were true, it seems there'd be more happy people. I think perhaps there's an element of blind luck to it. And, of course, people are dynamic – their identities and personalities are malleable. I'm sure that that has something to do with happiness crises. However it happens, I hope I don't end up like that. I want to study something I'll always be interested in. I want to marry someone whom I'd still love decades later, and who'd still love me back. I want to live somewhere I will always be happy to come home to. I'm not worried that I won't have these things. . . more just. . . slightly, slightly concerned.

One Quarter to Go

Well, the quarter is over. Five sets of ten tiring weeks down, one to go. I admit that the time flies by. . . just very, very unpleasantly. I think I'd compare it to a piece of tape being ripped off my skin: it comes off fast and that's a good thing, but why on earth did I put it on myself in the first place? Ah well, it's almost completely off now: just one last bitter rip to go. Haha... aaand then off to a four-year college. Great.

Oh my poor brain; it's tired and sick and wants to go to bed. Shall we let it? I think so. Well. . . I didn't want to make this post so short, but I'm afraid if I stay here I'll just stare at my computer screen trying half-heartedly to get my head back up on its feet.

'Night