I love mankind; it's people I can't stand.

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Feeling: Calm. Loving my life.
Eating: Um... life?
Drinking:Dasani water
Wearing: Jeans, black tank top with built in bra, lavender panties, eith a little sleeping kitty on them, my claddagh, green choker and matching earrings, contacts, vestiges of the day's make-up, black belt.

Listening to:
*Hummmmrumblerumblerumble* It's my washing machione making contented noises.
Chatting with:
Keeping my own counsel.
Thinking: "I need to concentrate on my posture more."
Remembering: Dave's tongue ring.
Glad for: My ability to move past fear into growth.

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Today is: 2002-03-30 - @ 10:29 p.m.
Questions, gob and gobs of questions

all time - is relative
I try to be myself, and yet the complete lack of know what myself is, where it is, and what it is made out of kinda sets me back. How much of me is me? How much of me is my parents saying, "Oh, black people are lazy,"? How much of my is my best friend turning vegitarian? Would I still be blonde, cruel, confused, hurt if I hadn't nad the people around me act they way they do? And if not, who programmed them? Who programmed the progammers and so forth and so forth? Am I just a dilution of a Cro-Magnon person chasing after a buffalo? Are everyone just tiny variations of the same pre-pre-preprogrammer? Were they the only true individual? What makes someone an indivdual? IF they say they are an individual, aren't they conforming to the idea of an individual, therefore defeating the purpose of being an individual at all?How can anyone be an individual? If someone wants to be an individual, they are back to being on one the crowd, becuase everyone wants to be noticed, to be flattered, to be appreciated. I am no different. I do not claim to be an individual. I do not claim to be wise or logical or anything at all except confused and a little scared of the endless infinity that streched beyond me, beckoning and refusing in the saming eriee breathless space.

all time - is relative

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