Well, tonight was a blast. Stevenson and other local high school GSAs got together at the YO for a dance.

This is important for several reasons - one, the autonomy that the just budding SHS GSA had since my days of high school always been a bit of a struggle (for the most part, our dances were at the whims of other schools because getting us to hold a dance under the then administration was near impossible); two, it was good for all the kids who need a normalized place for them to simply live with their sexuality. No matter what the opposition may say, kids as young as 14 understand their own sexualities perfectly well and a non-sexual enviroment and regular social place for them is most necessary. My only complaint would be that most of the songs were at the whim of the very heteronormative domination that pop music has. But oh well. We got in Time Warp near the end and watching most everyone able to sing the lyrics word for word was fantastic.

Most important, though, was just how normalized everything was - no one was worried about sexuality: the stright girls flirted and danced with the gay girls, the gay boys danced with the girls, and all other mixes went forth. You weren't gay, straight, bi, or a(sexual) that night - you just had fun. And that idea that anyone can be any sexuality (and that is often the case of the world, just not the extent we gave image to) is very healthy and good for anyone entering a world such as this and being non-heteronormative.

Also was great for me to see so many familiar face again. I think the GSA is gonna be okay. On its 6ᵗʰ year and still going strong.

Honestly, I sometimes worry if I made a "culture" for myself of wasting out - when you're under depression, dealing with many things out of your control, and then have homework on top of all that, staying up late, uploading on sugar, etc. is a bit justified. And it's slightly therapeutic for the self, I would argue.

However, when you actually bother to plan things out so you have enough time to do the work and really have little excuse as to not get the homework done on time, etc....that habit of slacking off, staying up, and all else kind of looses the credit it had.

And yet, I had two or so days to work on a paper and I didn't bother to. The night before the day it's due (today at 5 PM) I spent with friends eating Twizzlers and brownies and watching The Blues Brothers and The Land Before Time. Now I'm putting together my draft with no sleep yet - and feel fantastic. Granted, that might be because I actually have a draft already that, if worse came to worse (I have 'til five, there's no way I'm not doing any editing to the thing, don't worry), I could just turn in without any editing. It could be that I can sleep in like all Hell after this paper is turned in because it's finals week. Or, for all I know, it could be a natural high I have from running on caffeine, sugar, and a lack of sleep.

Yet I think part of it is just being within a medium I know well and understand - I have a visible deadline coming up and (technically) I still have plenty of time. I do best with a deadline and when I'm right up against it. Perhaps that's a product of that "culture" of burn-out.

Maybe it's just great to be stretching myself out like this. Back to those depression discussions over being able to "feel" yourself.

Or maybe the inability to keep concentration due to depression and the depression itself is excuse enough and I'm being too harsh on myself. I dunno, can't say.

But I feel great. It's gonna be a good day. Wish you all the same.

To think not too long ago I was worrying I didn't update my Xanga enough. Should I work on my paper tonight? If I get to sleep at 2, I can wake up at 10:30 like I usually would've for Sundays. If I work on my paper, I get some work done I don't have to worry about on Monday (a day before the paper is done). I'm more likely to actually work on Monday, though (in theory). All in all, waking up before 12 is probably a wise idea. Bed it is then, after this entry.

So, when asked about what I miss about HS/home, I usually respond that it's the sense of community that was there. I was placed with people I knew pretty damn well, comfortable in my skin as a result, and actually cared about (which is turning into more of a surprise to me than I certainly expected). For all it was worth, it was definitely a worthwhile experience. But none of this information is new.

I was looking through some of the photos of Prom, reflecting over the news I had heard (though slight) of back home, and I was struck by just how utterly left out I felt. Which, of course, is to be expected - it's been a year I've been gone. And people do have lives, after all.

I know some have joked that I was kind of the "parent" (often the specific wording was mother, but I take umbridge with that specific label) of a good deal of my friends. While logically generally stated by those 2 grades younger than me, Monica has noted that a lot of the people who spent time together (in her perspective) were brought together because I knew most of them. She felt kind of isolated from some people this year because she didn't know them as well. While this sentiment might be true for some, I've never assumed, or would think to assume, that this is true for many (it's one thing to be appreciated; to think you have a specialized place of importance borders on egoism).

However, to an extent, there is a bit of that feeling. For the Seniors this year, not so much (though I do feel like I have no clue what's going on in their lives, for the most part). But for the Juniors? Even the Sophomores this year - while I didn't know many (or that well), these guys still have, at minimum, a year to go. I feel I ought to be there. There's so much they're going to go through. And I'm totally missing these huge times of our friendship.

Again, though, this should come at no surprise. I've always been someone with a deep-seated need (I think I wouldn't be over-stepping with using need) for a community. I love history and honestly feel left out if something (let's take the long history and in-jokes of homestarrunner.com) has a extensive past history that I don't know entirely. When someone makes a reference to something that happened in the past - I feel this odd melancholy of isolation. Of course, when it comes to actual people, it's a little more serious.

So (brief, slight shift in subject), I never understood that idea of sitting around and talking. Granted, I never did well socially in groups of people I don't know well - this might explain when my parents would go out and drag us (the kids) along, I didn't do well mingling. Give me my corner and let me dwell. But amongst those I do know, I've discovered this year I do better. And, for me at least, it's a way to get to know people better. And with all the ideology I continually spew, I think we all know that the notion of knowing others better is probably one I'd subscribe to easily and quickly. Fully endorse, we might say....

In any case, it helps also foster this idea of community. And I've realized what I'll need someday - a stable community. Something where I can always return. A family, of sorts.

Because of the unity my cousins and my siblings and I had (until our parents all separated to different locations), I plan to someday run the idea by them of having all of us live in a cluster together someday. That way that same friendship and bond could happen with them as it did with us. Either way, I need a sense of community (no, nvm, not a sense - the actual thing). It would be nice.

One of the drawbacks of having a penis: when you're swinging on a swing set, it's like constantly crushing a piece of your body the entire time. So then you try to shift it, you know, so you don't flatten the poor thing. But then it's laying on top of your leg; and it's not like there isn't enough heat they're being subjected to with the stupid seat of the swing crushing your thighs together. By the end, you're stuck wishing you could simply detach and reattach your reproductive order whenever you wish. That would be sweet. And very difficult.

I honestly do have to wonder how I end up with so large a group of the female sex for friends. For this time period, you'd think otherwise.

Which reminds me of Sophomore year, as a Freshman Lilia openly adjusted her bra and, I think, complained about her period. Oddly enough, she decides to remark that she really shouldn't be telling me this stuff later. To which I must react - why? Like I don't know you're wearing a bra. Or that you have a period. It's like we give such minuscule stuff a feeling that we shouldn't be talking or sharing it. One of my favorite things about the Ancient Greeks was their public bathrooms.

Just a slew of connected toilets with no walls between them. And they just sat their and, as they did their universal business, discussed whatever a normal conversation would cover. Fantastic! No worries about embarrassment over non-embarressing stuff. But really, the more pressing and important question of this matter was why I didn't try to do more with a girl so open about her bra. The possibilities were probably endless. But, for another day.

However, the topic does bring us to another topic. Ever been somewhere with your parents and there's a group that's somewhere near in the social setting? And, of course, mom or dad mentions something like, "Can't those kids sit still?" or "Why are they so loud?" And, of course, you can't help but think both statements are ridiculous. But, more so, it goes back to that basic tenement of whatever pleases and makes you happy to a tee isn't necessarily what you ought to expect. There are others in this world. Actually think of them (father dearest, start taking notes). I guess when people act out, or against what's "publically/socially acceptable", I always want to object, "So?" If someone's happy - cherish that. For the sake of God, cherish that. For a world stricken by lies, two-faced...ness, cheating, depression, lack of proper self-esteem, betrayal, physical parental abuse - and the many, many et cetera, this person is happy. Geez, let them have that! I honestly think, if you don't just live at least once in your life - what's the point? Take a risk, make a fool of yourself, cuss pointlessly, sing to yourself in public (I apparently wasn't loud enough to get odd glances at the park today), play the penis game in a public sphere, just do something that reminds others how badly we construct expectations that have no real (logically held-up) reason for being followed. So, okay, yeah, they're being loud and disrupting others just a bit. They're also 14. And have more screwed up domestic issues than you want to sift through. Let 'em be...not like they're harming anyone or being immoral. Let them have the moment.

I rediscovered why I loved Metallica again today. I dunno if it's just because I grew up to it, am just used to it, or whatever, but I love the full sound of an electric guitar. Amazing instrument.

Yeah...trust I seek
    and I find in you
Everyday for us something new...
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters
(-Metallica)

There was some seemingly unrealated rant I was going to go with that...Sabbath, anyone?

I wonder if I have to serve Sunday Mass this week. Probably. I usually do. Williams' Secular Community party on Saturday. Plus all my homework. And Work. Should be fun....

Hmm, yeah...totally can't think of what else I was going to say. Which is odd, because I could've sworn...huh. Definitely one of my more...free-form flowing thought...like entries. I'm usually not this flitty. Random topics FTW, I suppose.

Oh, do you believe in Rock 'n' Roll?
Can music save your immortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance...real slow?
-Don McLean

Heh, I'm such a product of the suburbs...

I suppose I'm doing this largely to make up for my shameless advertising of my last two posts for credits (I figure I ought to try premium out at least once; I can't imagine it has much I'd actually miss, though). So, one of my favorite topics to talk about - depression.

If you didn't know, you now will know I have clinical depression. While never diagnosed by a doctor, you can only become down so many times before you question whether your failed attempts at trying may be failing for a reason. Chemically based, by my judgement.

Now, everyone has their opinions of it. Not everyone has the same type. The thing that has always scared me was knowing someone out there has it worse than me. I hope they, at least, have the sense to see a doctor about it.

Now, understand, I've kinda assumed I always was, to some extent, influenced by this. Even if it wasn't there at a young age, I drew a pleasure at the sad things in life, melancholy. This is crucial. Probably largely due to the depression, I have a deep love for the perverse and (to be utterly generic) depressing.

This being said, I can't say I've always loved depression wholeheartedly. It's had it's terrifying moments. Thus far (though I believe I've moved past this entirely by now) I've had 4 major "dips", starting at Freshman year and ending either during Junior year or the end of Sophomore year (what I've confusedly - and before I had a full understanding of what I was going through - referred to as Depressions).

My first Depression was mostly just a new experience. Lots of crying, lethargic, not wanting to do anything. I don't remember it as being that bad, for whatever reason. Bad, sure, and bordering on not functional. Yet a bit of crying and laziness isn't all that bad a thing to endure, particularly for a short period of time.

They kinda just got worse as they went along until the climax, my fourth one. I almost forgot just how bad that one was. Picture this: den of the house, doors are closed, parents are doing whatever and sure son is working on homework, son is in the corner - homework is on the desk - and trying to sob uncontrollably but only able to break into short bursts of tears before falling into the habit of regaining control. You don't even want to know what that's mentally like. Cliché? Sure, but it was true. I mean, the mental ability just goes to Hell and you're so badly exuding the feeling of misery that you can't even manage thinking of how to do simple tasks. In retrospect, this screams "bad, nonfunctional situation" but what's one to do when they don't know better (or can't really tell a financially struggling family that has no empathy bone in their body)? And it's definitely one of the few times I was scared for my life because I actually didn't know if I would actually commit suicide or not (as apposed to just constantly thinking about and wanting death, though knowing you'd never do it).

All that being said - I have to confess, I love aspects of depression.

The morbidity it provides is riveting. I mean, there's just something fucking beautiful about searing sarcasm, the dark, the twisted (which can lend to the idea of insanity - Dark Knight, anyone (there's a reason I love Batman)?), and, most of all, something movingly emotional in the breaking or hurt of a person. We're most stunning when we're fragile - which, of course, is ironic. Because we like confidence, certainly. Yet there's something moving in our open rareness. Seen The Wrestler? His very being is moving in his emotion. There's something stunning by so big a figure and clearly hardened one that just cries. I admit, this was the largest reason I went to see the movie (plus my boyfriend at the time was paying...).

While I have a deep love for nature, I can't forget the city. I love infrastructure, though the combination of the two is utter heaven. And yet, just the city alone is enticing. The steel, the bareness, almost, of it. The dark, the cramped place, the feeling of being closed in.

(okay, not technically city, but the idea of manmade structures)

And yet, that picture brings us exactly to the point. It's not all I'm looking at.

Particularly for a picture such as this one, I can't help but get excited - but in the sense of this is the beginning of a novel. This is the setting - now what?

So, the logical ending is happy, right? If this isn't the desire, but only the start - the end must be happy. And, in the question of life, I don't think anyone doesn't want a happy ending. But...I don't want to let go of the sad. In the right doses and the right parts - I like the sad.

My planned out book deals entirely with depression, actually. Its very layout mirrors the mind set of the (at least myself) depressed. It's something that permeates your entire being, really. It becomes an identity for you, to an extent.

But this identity slowly kills you everyday, makes you a pessimist, and (often) makes you quite suicidal. I've always been fond of saying, if not for the whole suicidal part and never being able to ever get rid of it, I'd make sure everyone goes through depression once because it opens your eyes to so much and creates an appreciation you won't find in many other places. Needless to say - this isn't healthy.

So Emo, but it makes the truth of it all that more alarming. And I think that's the balance we're always trying to find - how do I enjoy living with what I have?

My argument would be finding things which make you happy. Maybe it's just my depression leveling out to being controllable but I just see it as needing something to equal out the depression. Of course, that brings the question that if you had something for that long, would you just get bored of it and want to move on. I always used to (still do, from time to time) wonder if I could actually be happy with anything - and not get tired of it, wear it out, and just stay satisfied.

Well, guess I have to. What other option? Well, there is one, but I closed the idea long ago. It seems we see the world. ...or, because I think 60% of people have it, that's why we see the world. But even still, for all its construction and all else, I'm enraptured.

What brought you to Xanga? What made you stay?

I was brought to xanga due to Nox, back when I used to frequent the Church USA chat rooms. I didn't know what the Hell it was, at first (my first few posts are beyond comical, in my opinion). Upon figuring it out, I fell in love with the environment  Honestly, Xanga created the idea of a ton of teenage journals in anonymity for open navigation on the inter-web. There still remains no environment like it, with the layouts it provided. It was, really, personality connection for those driven into isolation. As I've waxed before, that's since changed, but xanga is still very much that way for me.

As for staying, I'm not entirely sure. I've grown exceedingly tired with Xanga. While I love the initial concept, and the Featured Weblogs and (to an extent) the Ish sites were quite good, some of the junk they've added is downright pointless. Upload pictures...on a journal site? No one's about to make albums. And you could just see the picture with the original post; that way it makes sense. Blogrings have never made sense to me. It's like MySpace - I can alter what it says (and, true, MySpace has layouts) but that's it. No interaction whatsoever.

Plus, I really want to know what dumbass decided to fuck up the Look & Feel option. True, the new way to make layouts is quite user-friendly  But, surely they knew that half of the fun of layouts was screwing around with the HTML code...right? I mean, really? You didn't realize that?? Okay, so you've ended up limiting us severely instead. And they honestly don't know how to pick Featured Weblogs for shit. Some of the most stupid crap is posted instead. Take a look through the suggested ones, then see which ones they decided to feature. I'm also growing exceeding sure Xanga has a anti-gay bias. Revelife was the first Ish site, wasn't it (or one of)? Plus, that's the only one they have? People have gathered around having an atheist ish site in the ideas section, but they haven't implemented that yet. Coincidence?

I mean, I know the hypocrisy of typing out complaints about a site I'm currently using. But beyond it's core function (an online journal/blog), Xanga team fails on many accounts.

Still, I'm here. Fact is, my entire journal since (I think) Freshman year of high school is here. My thoughts and ideas. Exactly the point of a Xanga - the person scribbled and inscribed in the layout and words and pictures they leave behind. I have a True Badge, too. But I suppose I have it for the old Xanga I used to know, before the celebrities and the ignorance the internet is so good at exposing in others was shown so blatantly. I couldn't part from this profile. It means too much.

I just answered this Featured Question; you can answer it too!

      Another thing that used to rile me but which I afterwards enjoyed was his complete indifference and, almost, disdain for my appearance. Never, either by word or look, was there a hint that he thought me pretty: on the contrary, he would make a wry face and laugh when people complimented me on my looks in front of him. He took a positive pleasure in picking out my defects and teasing me about them. The fashionable clothes in which Katya liked to dress me up and the way she did my hair for festive occasions only provoked his mockery, mortifying the kind-hearted Katya and at first disconcerting me. Katya, having made up her mind that he admired me, was quite unable to understand his not liking to see the woman he admired shown off to the best advantage. But I quickly came to see what was behind it. He wanted to be sure that I was devoid of vanity.[...]My hair, my hands, my face, my ways - whether good or bad, it seemed to me he had appraised them all at a glance and knew them so well that I could add nothing to them[...]. I felt that from whatever angle he saw me, whether sitting or standing, with my hair up or down, all of me was known to him and, I fancied, satisfied him. If, contrary to his practice, he had suddenly told me, as other people did, that I was beautiful, I believe I should have been anything but pleased. But, on the other hand, how happy and light-hearted I would feel when, after something I had said, he would gaze at me intently and say in a voice charged with emotion which he would try to hide with a humorous note:
      "Yes, oh yes, there is something about you. You're a fine girl, that I must admit."
-Happy Ever After, Leo Tolstoy, pages 25-26

I'll readily admit, for those that know me, opening as I just have is no surprise. I ought to probably note that there's more going on in that passage and I took what I needed and liked from it (though that often does happen when you take but a piece from a larger work). It's a disheartening piece, for they go from a practically idyllic love to something I would regard as settling; yet I know what Tolstoy meant to say with it. In any case, I suppose I ought to get to the point of this entry sometime soon...

We (myself, siblings, and mother) were sitting in the car before a doctor's appointment and the conversation came about to when my parents first dated. I believed this happened because it was prefaced by me and my brother noting she wasn't a virgin her wedding night (partly to point at the hypocrisy of her abstinence only stance - though, as most know, I'm very pro-abstinence while my brother is on the fence since last I talked to him - and also to bother her since we have no issue of talking about sex while, for her, it depends on her mood and situation; more than often, it's amusing uncomfortability). So, she notes that the first time she met my dad was at Market Fax (crudely referred to as Market Fags due to the amount of Queer people that often worked there); she, of course, doesn't bother to mention the FTM transsexual who happen to set them up together (honestly, for a straight couple, my parents had the gayest adolescence when they dated; I should have a post dedicated to when they went out sometime).

We ventured into what is essentially the same stories we've heard a million times before, though I enjoyed hearing them anyway. Stuff like the first time my dad tried to pick my mom up for a date and how she thought he had a cute butt when they worked at Market Fax. Of course, I can't help but note that the cute butt line comes at the expense of her now current (continual) detractions of his appearance now (as if he could magically hold back the pressings of time all on his own) or the detractions she levies towards my siblings and myself. However, I enjoy these stories because they give some color or background to these people who I've had to basically sever as well as I can from my life. Talking the past (i.e. before I was born) was always something rarely done so that I don't know much of my ancestors or my parents' life before hand. And, for someone who obsesses about the past and loves history as much as myself, this is a travesty. More so, though, I think I like to think there was a time when they were in love.

Of course, that sentence implies they aren't in love now. Which I think could be accurate enough of a statement. Or at least not a healthy love. Their communication is terrible. They constantly insult each other (and then wonder why the other ones gets pissed off). They're fantastically selfish (which is an obvious no-no in a relationship). And they aren't there for each other anymore. I mean, of course, I'm talking from an outside view; and while they've told me their own woes about the other from their very own mouths (and I stumbled across a few journal writings of my dad's on accident one time), for the most part I am speaking from an outside view. I readily admit this. Yet they don't even seem interested in each other. Being young and hopeful and, possibly, naïve, I have very idylic perfect ideas of love. Given that, I'm will to argue (from my very unexperienced viewpoint) that there is merit to them and no reason to believe they can't exist or happen. So I lament dearly at the fact my parents never seem to really talk beyond the day to day stuff. They own interactions are built on the jobs they have to do for the day. I rarely see them (even when they're unaware I'm viewing them) interact in a way outside of what chore needs to be done. Even their kiss when they see each other is done as if it's another thing in the schedule. And their laments never end....

And so I'm reminded of Junior year. I believe we were talking about the relationship I had at the time and we happen to come to trust. I'll admit, rather assuredly, I said that I'd trust Victoria (Mendez) with my life, to which my mother objects with the style of one sympathetically correcting one she knows to be inexperienced (I've said this story before, if it's sounding familiar). She then proceeds to tell me that she rarely trusts anyone. She specifically says she doesn't trust my sister to sleep over my uncle's house for fear he may touch her (out of the ordinary, that is to say). She even (I almost want to say boasts) didn't trust my father for the first few years after they were married (and she wonders why I object to dating a total of 2 years (or less) only before marrying). Now, I understand worrying about making poor choices on the behalf of others for fear of failing them. How do you possibly look at yourself again after essentially sending your daughter to rape (though I can't imagine distrusting my brother that badly; might say something about her childhood and their relationship)? 

But for myself? I've suffered too much to put myself through more. Yes, you might hurt yourself - you can hurt yourself in many ways. But to live a life of isolation such as hers? You never hurt but you can see what the results are - a marriage which is empty and soulless. I've only loved once but (all relationships included) I could tell you exactly what caught my eye about the girls worth remembering. And I'll admit, while not every person I've dated was exactly "utterly rapturing and fascinating" (or exactly worth remembering...), those of real worth not only are remembered but make a "physical" mark in my own development. As I've said somewhere on here before, a relationship should ideally (particularly if it doesn't succeed) create a far more strong bond between the two people and a deeper appreciation for each other (which I'm not properly describing right now, nor seem to be able to). And, no, that's not love. If my actual assumptions of love are correct, they're a shadow of what it is. But it is and should be related to it. You don't get even the slivers of love if you don't open yourself to it. And, yes, that means many possibilities of things which you probably don't want. But that's life. To be honest, I think there's only two people in this world I trust wholly and fully without a doubt (at this point in my life). But to shut the door with a, "Well, that's all that's probably possible in this lifetime," may be one of the biggest mistakes I could make.

Ay, what point was I making.... I guess I was just waxing over the idea of Love in general (though particularly in relation to my parents). Thinking about it now, there's probably too much (or a good deal I've said before) which I wouldn't even know how to get into from this frame point. Yeah, I think I've said my thoughts on love before rather well in the past, right?

It's still kind of weird thinking I may or may not be allergic to certain sea food. I'm definitely staying away from clams for life, but I kind of miss actually enjoying shrimp.

Today starts changes in the way I handle school. Plot out what needs to be done - do it, no distractions. I'm cutting into my time for dinner with this entry.

The issue is I'm nailed up against a wall, a bit. I've given up on Orgo, to be honest. I'm hoping to get the grade drop, but, if I can't, there's really no point to keep hoping at this point; I have no clue what's going on in the class.

And, really, I ought to be using the time for my other classes. I need to focus on my research paper and I need to focus on my previous paper for history - I have little idea what I'm doing, in total. Plus, I've recieved two C- papers for both english and philosophy today. Chem. is an indulgence of sorts - one I don't need.

I can't remember if I've ever remarked it here. I probably have, way back when in the past. Certainly somewhere, if not Xanga. Like many things in life, it connects to other ideas (mainly that idea of being alive versus living). When things got near to unbarable but you were too frightened to take your own life, you simply gave up. Living was a goal - stay breathing, stay functioning (even if barely). It was attainable. Just stop caring. I used to think that included not caring about things that might bring consequences (namely, in this scenario, grades). You just had to get through.

The issue is, to get through, you have to be able to just go through life. It isn't so simple now. Just getting by would result in poor grades which would definitely impact me later on. And, if I've made it this far, no way in Hell I'm gonna just back out now. That means caring at a later point in life. That means not having a load of shit to deal with when you "wake back up".

I honestly never thought I'd end up missing it. Sophmore year constitutes some of the most emotionally trying memories of my life (largely pioneered by a raging depression). And it was then that such a technique was so necessary. But I can't float through life and just give up caring at this point. All or nothing, in a sense. Better get dinner; time's running and homework's calling.

FACT: I'm probably going to fail my Orgo class.

SECRET: I don't really give a damn.

Just saw a xanga article titled Why Do People Think Christian Rap is Wack? Probably because you've removed the never-staying-within-societal-expectations and groundbreaking aspects of it, not to mention ripped it utterly from its roots and probably reject those roots as well. I wouldn't be surprised to find the quality sub-par as well. Harsh, but if you don't recognize what Rakim, Jay-Z, Nas, or Biggie did to advance the way we bother to look at lyricism or acknowledge the groundbreaking affect Dr. Dre's The Chronic had on producing, I'm not going to take you seriously as an emcee (and if you cannot tell me the origins of that word and how it pertains to my current usage...yeah, you get the point).

I was going to say something for this post, but I've forgotten. I should be doing hw anyway.

Seems like I've been able to just let lyrics speak for myself these days...

Well, papa, go to bed now -
It's getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now

I'll be leaving in the morning
From St. Mary's Gate
We wouldn't change this thing even if we could somehow

There's a darkness of this house that's got the best of us
There's a darkness in this town that's got us too

But they can't touch me now
And you can't touch me now
They ain't gonna do to me what I watched them do to you

So, say goodbye; it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day all down the line...

Just say goodbye; it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day this time...

Now, I don't know what it always was with us
We chose the words
And, yeah, we drew the lines

There was just no way this house
Could hold the two of us
I guess that we were just too much of the same kind

Well, say goodbye; it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day
All boys must run away

So say goodbye; it's Independence Day
All men must make their way
Come Independence Day

[Sax solo]

Now the rooms are all empty down at Frankie's joint
And the highway, she's deserted
Clear down to Breaker's Point

There's a lot of people leaving town now
Leavin' their friends and their homes
At night they walk that dark and dusty highway all alone

So papa, go to bed now
It's getting late
Nothing we can say can change anything now

'Cause there's just different people comin' down here now
And they see things in different ways
And soon everything you've known will just be swept away

So say goodbye; it's Independence Day
Papa, now, I know the things you wanted
That you could not say

But won't you just say goodbye?
It's Independence Day
I swear I never meant to take those things away...
-Bruce Springsteen