its hard to imagine life without certain people in it. even those who arent around much or whom i barely get to see.

i hung out with justin for the first time in awhile and it was nice. i really miss us. i miss the summer where i basically lived in his house since i was there everday. i just have to wonder what he is really like or what he is really thinking, because i know he doesnt tell me. but i am sure glad he is in my life and its nice to know that he cares for me, he makes that very clear.

im at my sisters apartment since her and her roomate are in new orleans celebrating marti gras. im watching elizabethtown, which i think has moved to my top three favorite movie list.

i feel like ive become somewhat of a recluse. yes i see friends daily, and i enjoy their company, but i am totally happy being with myself right now. i dont think its a bad thing, its just different. i used to feel the need to go out and be social every weekend. now i dont enjoy going to parties at someone's house ive never met where all the girls stand in clumps and talk shit about all the other girls there, and the boys act stupid and just look for their newest hookup or fight over stupid beer pong rules. maybe its just because none of those people were my close friends and thats why i didnt enjoy myself, but i dont know. thats not appealing anymore and its crazy to think that i did that almost every weekend. i dont consider myself a loner by any means, i just dont prefer to be fake.

isnt it amazing how funerals bring people together? people from different places, geographically and biologically, and in different places of their lives all brought together by the ending of one persons life. and in most cases where the deceased is an elder, it becomes a celebration eventhough there are plenty of tears. at my grandpas funeral, we went to the rosary the night prior to the funeral, where people shared their memories of him with total strangers. there was laughing, crying, beauty. and the family and a few friends went back to the house afterward and partied. we cheered champagne to him and kathleen brought out the strongest alcohol ive ever tasted, one of her serbian surprises. we talked about him as well as other subjects and had a good time. the next day was the funeral, even more sad than the rosary, and the final goodbyes to him at the graveyard. and again we went to the reception after and ate and talked and hugged and laughed. everyone brought together by one person.

i do wish the concept of eternal sunshine of the spotless mind was true, that we could erase a certain person or memory from our brains, like it never even happened. the pain caused from certain things would cease to exist. however, its hard to imagine not experiencing these things because they make us who we are today, but how different would life be if we did not feel the pain necessary to learn. or if erased the memories of mistakes weve made? what would stop us from making the same mistakes twice? i just wish we could instantly change our emotions. they say if youre feeling sad and you force a smile, chemical reactions will cause us to physically be happy. ive found this to be true, but its not always enough.

i know im coming off as sad or emotional right now but im really not, just contemplative.

success, not greatness, but success, is the only god the whole world lives for.

we are intrepid.

I would write this in my journal but I don't think I'd be able to put my thoughts down fast enough. There is too much going on in my head right now to take my time. It would simply be impossible.

Let me start by saying that I don't know how we got to the way we are. And how much my thoughts do not reflect the thoughts of others. And how it is impossible to relate to anyone completely, or nearly at all actually.

How do we do something to set ourselves apart when it all seems so cliche now? Why has it become impossible to be unique? Unique meaning existing as the only one or as the sole example. How can that be possible anymore? Everyone just wants to be that same unique, so is does uniqueness even exist?

Where did this idea come from that in order to be happy we need to married, have children, and make a lot of money? What cook book entitles this as the recipe for happiness? Why are we taught that this is the only way to live? That this is the only way to be truely happy? What about the many studies that have shown how people without children are more likely happy than those without? Why do we feel the need to create carbon copies of ourselves, rather than helping the tons of children all over the world whose parents have left them without a home or family. Overpopulation is ridiculous but completely makes sense if you consider the thought process of society.

And yes those who earn a degree from college are more happy than those without, but those who earn higher degrees are proven no more happy that those with a bachelors. Sure they usually make a lot more money, but if they are not happy, doesn't this prove the theory wrong? But who says money can't buy you happiness? I know that if I can support myself comfortably, pay bills, and do things that make me happy, so doesn't that have to do mostly with money?

Is it true that our destiney is completely in our hands? What if you choose to become homeless, wandering from town to town hoping that someone generous will give you half of their sandwhich or some spare change? That is the destiny you have chosen for yourself, but you will most likely be in trouble by the law because you are a "beggar". How much of that destiny is really in your hands?

If you choose the life of solitude, hoping to shut yourself off from "Babylon" as the Rastafarians would say, and become part of nature by buying yourself a little wood cabin in the woods, you are still limited. First of all, you are confined to a certain small portion of the earth untouched by civilization; shopping malls, gas stations, grocery stores, etc. Second, in order to still exist in this country and own that lovely log cabin, you must pay taxes and blah blah blah. See? Still limited.

So how much of our future is really in our hands, or in the hands of others?

And why is it so hard for us to be wowed anymore. Why is it that we can't stand still for one moment and watch something beautiful and say to ourselves: ..wow..
Nothing wows us anymore. Not even the most beautiful sunset, or a masterpiece from the most important artists in history, or even a tomato (really look at a tomato sometime, they are positively amazing).

The truth is something we all recognize. It has just become something that we all are good at covering up. Lying is something we have made a part of our everyday lives and the truth is something far-fetched.

And can you please tell me why it is I have to write this on this stupid website rather than have this in a conversation with a real person? Why they have never contemplated any other thoughts except "Where will I get drunk tonight?" or "Who will I hook up with tonight?". If we spent more time by ourselves, with our own thoughts, we could be such better people. However, that is not something that will be happening considering we can't take a five minute drive without talking on the phone or texting at the nearest stop light (or not stopping to text at all).

What ever happened to being spontaneous? Finding a career we are actually interested in? The idea that we do not need to have children or get married or make a lot of money in order to be happy? The milk man? The paper boy? Full House?

I do not consider myself a pessimist at all. In fact, I'm quite happy and have recently become considerably easy going. Maybe I have to be in order to be on the same page with others my age. Who knows..

And what's frustrating me the most at this given moment, is that after all these years and years of art classes, I have no idea how to put my feelings on a paper. Sure I've been inspired to paint a certain subject, but I have never been able to recognize my mood and paint it on to a canvas. I have only been taught the technicals - to measure, draw it out, add layers and layers, and make sure everything is perfect and proportionate.
Does one really think that a real piece of art is thought out for days, sketched five times before even putting it on the canvas, measured out perfectly, and is only considered a work of art if it is perfectly proportional? Just another one of these stupid recipes society keeps giving us.

If anyone finds this recipe book, please let me know?