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10:27 p.m. - November 02, 2001 Trying to park in Chicago is a futile endeavor. Avocados are good.. I thought I was becoming a little more tolerant with chronic whiners, until someone came up and whined at me. I'll take it if it's an isolated incident, but please.. PLEASE.. don't whine at me about how your life sucks and you want to kill yourself and you're a horrible person and nobody likes you; the more you say it, the more it'll come true. I wish I hadn't had that period in my own life. I did. I got over it. I wish everyone would; but sometimes I wonder if there are people out there whining their way through entire lifetimes, and how do they turn out? Do they find love, do they go out at night, do they like their jobs? Do they have a purpose, day by day? I keep thinking of a hyperextended freshman year and I get the shivers. Could I have spent my whole life convinced that my friends would rather have been somewhere else, could I have spent my whole life scared of quiet, empty rooms? Would I have ended it myself by now? I don't consider suicide anymore, and that's because life seems to have.. well.. not more possibilities than death, but more forseeable rewards. I don't want to die without having written a piece of music I'm proud of. I don't want to die without having fallen in love, consensually. I don't want to die without having had sex. I don't want to die without having experienced college. Et cetera. There may be other chances at other things, things I can't even imagine, after death, but there's only one chance for the accomplishments of this life. If it's ended, then it's ended, but it won't be ended by me. I think sometimes about the 'apocalypse' and within whose time it will come, and how unfair that will be to the select few people of that era who will be unfortunate enough to be living when it all comes to a halt. I don't want to be the one who sees the sun coming closer and closer, I don't want to be the one dying on the dust-choked ground while some bacteria kills us all off, I don't want to be counting the days until we make a bomb big enough to bomb the world, blindly building and building for protection. Protection. We protected ourselves from any more pain. I don't want to be there. Maybe it's all going in some sort of skewed circle. One of those infinity graphs your calculator freezes on when it tries to trace it. We're all a malfunctioned calculator, someone stop my bad analogies before they hurt somebody. I have CD's to listen to. Fuck philosophy when there's music... you know, I'm planning on majoring in music and minoring in philosophy.. that'd be a good catch phrase, wouldn't it? They'd love me then, wouldn't they? Although 'fuck' things isn't the best approach to take, analyzing things you'd rather fuck.. oh, stop, stop .
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