Sadness

Ok, romance is officially declared to be depressing. Especially when you have no boyfriend/girlfriend. Its like seeing a feast when you're starving buy you can't have any. I mean, what do people read that stuff for? No, I know why people read it. It just really makes me sad at this point, more than it should. I'm clinging to the vaguest hope, a barely visible ray of light, a phantom of my dreams, and more and more I'm realizing it's all useless. I hate school; I can't make myself care about it, and I'm failing my classes. I don't ever want to see Dos Pueblos again. I just want it to keep raining and raining, rain until it washes away this stupid, sinful world like the Great Flood. I don't care anymore. School, friends, love... I don't care anymore, I don't want it. I don't want to "grow up", I don't want to know. I don't want to know how anything works. I don't want to know what's wrong and what's right. I don't want any of it. If I was in the Garden, I'd refuse the apple. Knowledge... Who wants knowledge? All knowledge does is kill your sense of wonder. I didn't used to know anything, but now all I know is I'm tired of knowing. Imagination... when everything didn't have a wrong and a right answer, when everything was open to debate, when the world wasn't black and white. The world, my world, is collapsing, and I'll be lucky if I survive it unscarred. How stupid could I be? I don't want it, any of it, anymore. I don't want it anymore.
*crying sigh*
Isn't it sad that when it rains the runoff is so toxic that they close beaches? Doesn't that make you sick? Literally... Humans crap in their own bed.
That's the third ambulance I've heard in the past hour. While I love the rain, it scares me that there are so many accidents. The radio is abuzz with the death and mayhem on the 101. *Sigh.* Bloodshed is always so entertaining. Wind and rain, rain and cold... It used to be the gods, it used to be a blessing, but now it's only a cold front moving through California.

Straws to Concertos

Do you ever feel that sometimes you're living your life through a little plastic stirring-straws? You know the ones, they're red and anorexic and so frustrating to drink through. I suppose you're not really meant to drink from them, but its infuriating nonetheless.
It feels like I should be doing something more, something bigger. Like my life is too small, too tinny, sound coming from crappy speakers when it should be an orchestra. But maybe that's what life is for, to develop yourself from a stirring straw to an orchestra.

On the other hand, who says life has a purpose? I mean, why do we have to have a reason to be here? Can't the question be self-fufilling?
Why are we here? Because we are here. To be, or... well, to be.

And I heretofore conclude this weird rambling about clichè philosophical questions.