• Three laundromats and a sign that seems like a rip off of Donnie Darko is what I see as we drive a road leading perpindicular to one named Plate. Let's go to the book store and watch my pride die as I look for a self help book. Alas, I had not enough money with me, and my pride shall hold off for a while yet. This softness, it's back. It's been haunting me ever since, but now it's really here. Why on earth did you have to be so soft? It feels as though there is a fluff of cotton wedged in my heart, capturing and soaking all my blood. It wells inside me, like a water balloon you just couldn't let be. Weighing me down, when I'm alone mostly. Until I see you again and all these things melt away, and my god, I hate it. The road to a small enlightenment has begun to feel more like a road to silence and softness, and I just want to feel a little passion. It feels less like I'm trying to be better and more like I'm trying to give up. Or to control, I don't know which one. I realize that perhaps my journal has become one of those very boring journal, where the writer seems to be trying desperately to sound deep and whimsy, the kind of journals I hate to read. Perhaps I've alwasy been that way or maybe I just feel into it by chance. Who knows. My friend seems to be very off today, and I can't seem to get passed the want to blame myself. Perhaps I did do something wrong. I'm unsure how though. We went to an art class with her grandmother. We had a lesson in water color. It was actually very interesting and opening for me, depsite my hatred for water colors. However, after that I think my hatred may turn into more of a curiosity, and I want to master an untamed beast. I was telling my friend's mother Nik about how I had been having trouble breathing earlier though I had done nothing that day, and she told me that was a panic attack. I looked it up later, and it seems she is very right. It also seems to explain many other unexplainable things that happen to me quite often. Which is both relieving and terrifying all at once. My father turned 40 yesterday, but I didn't say happy birthday. He hasn't in years, and neither have I. Quote of the Day: ~ “Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself.” --James Anthony Froude

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