Quick question-

Does the human mind really thrive on moments, thoughts, and events of tragedy?

Think about most news reports.
The biggest historical events that first come to mind.

I shall snuggle up with this thought a little more later. As for now... I need to think about it for a while.

Philosophy is Dead?

I have been shaken. This opinion editorial that I found in the New York Times today was oh-so-interesting to read. It makes me wonder... why do we really awe over things? Why do we cry over things? How do we just know that something doesn't feel right? The human emotion that, they argue controls our morality, is truly a funny thing.

So, does this mean all of those philosophers wrote bullshit?
Well, it depends on what you want to believe.
But then, think again... when you read book that dramatically shifts your way of life and thinking, there is that emotion that was triggered inside of you. That fluttery feeling- the feeling of crying, anxiety and excitement of it all just overpowers all of your sense. Why? Because you just simply do.

Now, from a writer's perspective, there was something in that combination of words that took over your soul. Words have meaning, and so much power. When did this start to happen?

Ah, and it can go on and on, how this feeling, the genesis of emotion. It controls everything that we want to do. Every action we make.

Surprising how much emotion's can influence us... we recognize them only in the extremes.

Ah, but it lingers over us, always.

Hej hej,

Any

Oh, the places we will go.

This will be a never ending post, that will be updated whenever it pleases us to add something to it.

Für Elise

1. Stockholm, Sweden
2. Ireland. Not Northern Ireland. Catholic Ireland.
3. Fashion District, Los Angeles, CA
4. Orleans, France
5. Budapest, Hungary

You don't have a clue.

My ass hurts.
My eyes burn.
My roommate is coming back tomorrow, and I have a raging mess going out of control in the room.

I think I should sleep more than anything, but I can't do that. Nope, because I must write. It's been over ten days since I have updated, not good for me to hold back on this.

I was thinking, back when I was on the bus from the airport on Wednesday, after I dropped my mother off at the airport, how difficult it was saying goodbye. I kept turning from my seat to wave goodbye to her before the 194 departs from Bay 1. She was standing there, with a big smile, letting out a puff every so often from her cigarette. I couldn't help but have that big lump begin to build up in my throat. That painful lump that forms when you are about to cry, but you're trying not to let your emotions show. It took a few deep breaths, a 4% volume increase on my iPod, and about 10 minutes drive in the bus for that feeling to go away.

I began to think, did I really want to go home? No. Am I just convincing myself that home is not a place that I would like to be? Maybe. I keep telling myself, I am never moving back to California. How much I hate living in LA- it's too expensive, the people are superficial. The weather is always hot (it is a desert, and I am no fan of a desert). But... it's where my family lives. Where my heart grew up. Why is it that I still have a piece of it there? Is it because I've only half moved out? I'm moving back for the summer only... but, I just think, why do people, who don't have traumatic upbringings in their hometown, tend to have a love-hate relationship with it? They say they need to get away... but they really don't mind going back?

I know that if I went back home for my Spring Break, after a few days, I'd need to leave. I can feel my blood pressure begin to boil-- not a good sign. The anxiety levels are not good when I go back home. Things are so much different here, and this constant transition, this flow... I don't know how I have been so lucky and so spoiled to have been uprooted and placed here. I have learned so much from so many people (despite what the grades say) and I am honestly convinced that I will never move to California again.

I am so sick of trying to decide if I am homesick or not.
I need some damned sleep.

Hej hej,
Any

When the Empire Strikes Back.

My own anxieties are what is holding me back from traveling to get a decent lunch. The minutes are ticking away, and it is getting closer to dinner.

It ain't easy being a poor college student.
It's even more difficult when you're a lazy one.

I think I am going to head down to the supermarket... it'll all be worth it.
So hungry...

Hej hej,
Any

And so it ends.

The thick layer that appears to endlessly hover over Seattle was generous enough to part it's clouds for a split second this afternoon. For a brief second, on this overcast day, I walked out of the building, took a step forward off the steps, and was bathing in those incredible rays.

"Amen, Amen, Amen!" I shouted. That glorious synchronization of celebration could not have been timed more perfectly. That feeling of satisfaction without ever worrying about the overall result... I don't believe I can ever have it be duplicated ever again. Mind you, it was probably the longest lasting split second of my life so far... oh how to have it contained as a memory! It will never be bittersweet!

I cannot believe that I have taken my last maths exam... it's truly remarkable. March 16, 2009, will never be forgotten as the day that ended my misery with a lifelong subject I have never got along with very well.

It's weird to think how much I learned from this class... the last two years of my high school career completely shattered all hope for having some care in the mathematical field. It started to be somewhat interesting when I was a sophomore, with one of my most influential math teachers, Mr. Agnew. He had a "I don't take shit from anyone. You are going to learn this, hell or high water," attitude, and actually made sure you learned the material. If you were struggling with the material, he had no problem sitting down with you and explaining how things operated.

As for my Junior and Senior year teacher, who shall always be unnamed on the internet, to spare her (I really am too kind sometimes), was the least agreeable math teacher I had ever met. You went to her for help... and sometimes it would work, but most of the time, she said, "Look at your notes! It's in your notes!"

Brief soliloquy:

Now listen, lady. I have already looked over my notes so much, that I have them practically memorized. Now, if I new that my answer to this problem was unlocked through the power of my well taken notes, I wouldn't be here, right now, asking you for help! How in the world do you expect me to get past this mental block without you nudging to me, suggesting to me-- leading me in some valid direction?! It's ridiculous how you can say that the answer to my problem is in my notes! I don't even understand my god damn notes half of the time, because you wrote them. You're damn lucky that the vice principal is the head of the math department, because I have been trying, these final moments of my high school career, to get your crazy-ass fired!

Maybe not so brief. As you have read, I continue to have bitterness toward this lady, and I have great sadness for those who continue to be taught by her...

Well, at the end of my math-learning career, I felt I ended on the highest note of my life. I got a lot of this class, it was actually quite interesting. It may have been because of the discussion ideas in the things we read in English class... but it gave me a whole new perspective on life. It really did- it altered so many of my views. I cannot believe how much I have changed, not even finished with my first year in this college experience. It's quite frightening!

Well, I must be off. Toodles.


Hej hej,
Any

Mz Pauline Diaz

Happy Birthday, dahling.