Its pretty early on the sunday before the end of the world and i'm sitting here thinking about my life, and the lives of other people. i think i will write a book before i die. a novel, fiction. teen crap most likely because i feel like that's all i know and that's all i could write about. a novel about succumbing to the majority and learning to live with yourself after youve conformed to the idealist society's seemingly perfect image of you. maybe it won't be about me. maybe it will be about someone i know. but either way i feel like that topic could get dark and messy. either way thats what i live for. the drama and the fights and the love and the tears, they make me smile and sometimes laugh like the cynical bitch that i am. not really. i wish i could sleep more, i have yet to understand why i can't. i get so tired. but i just cant sleep. i need to finish killer angels today. i was reading jeanaes live journal and it makes me really sad. maybe because i know that i still think about her on a regular basis and she doesn't of me. but i don't really think thats why its upsetting. i think i feel helpless when i read it, because i dont know her, maybe i never did. but the realization that i have no idea who she is makes me feel lost because i've changed so much and so has she. so has everyone i think, except a select few. who would have thought 3 years could do so much. ive never really looked at my life like a timeline but when i do, i can see exact moments when things ended and new things began. as tacky and overused as it may seem, i can look at my life as a garden, and most of the flowers are temporary, seasonal, staying only a few months and then leaving with the summer heat, but there are those flowers that started not in full bloom, but as bulbs that needed to be carefully buried. these flowers return every year without replanting, they are deeply rooted in the soil that is my life and come back without trial and hardwork, or maybe it is because they never left in the first place, the bulbs still resting in the dirt. of course there are weeds in the garden and without proper tending to, they will envelop the rest of the plantlife. but the beauty of the flowers, despite the length of their visit, manages to overpower the ugliness of the weeds. it is sad however, when flowers you thought were bulbs, turn out to be nothing more than a week taproot, or perhaps dicot. i suppose there are some parts of nature that we weren't meant to understand. the brevity of the flowers, the brevity of my friendships, or maybe its just the brevity of life.