This whole "sleeping" and "doing things on time" thing I need to get better at....

So, I was doing a quick update look on everyone before heading to bed and happened to be looking through some icons from http://ycant-heloveme.xanga.com/. As I was looking, I had one of those moments where you have a familiar feeling, often that was associated with something particular.

For whatever reason (okay, that's slightly stupid to say; most of the icons had, in some fashion, something to do with "love" but that it was this particular feeling that arose struck me by surprise), it was that feeling of being in a relationship you're eager to be in, that's important and dear to you, yet you really don't know how long it'll last, that apprehension and blatant chance.

It was weird. I guess the best way to explain is that I knew it'd take a while so I decided to put on something to listen to.

Largely due to my sister wanting it, I had recently gotten Michael Bublé's "Haven't Met You Yet". If you haven't heard it yet, it's this ridiculously upbeat and optimistic song. I know that my cousin seems to find my high critique of art these days as a strain of pretentiousness, but the song is optimism in the fashion that only Pop could mass produce. While undeniably catchy (and, I'm learning, rather impressive in terms of the instrumentation), it basically widdles down the pursuit for a mate to the notion that, in the end, everything will be okay because (unfailingly) the right person will come along in the end - he just hasn't met them yet.

So, I put this on for a little ear candy as I finish up my update checking. And almost immediately the mood was killed. 

Well, odd. I've used upbeat songs for browsing depressing icons late at night while feeling utterly awful to good use before. Why should it not work this time? The mood certainly wasn't a depressing one. It was ticklingly pleasant, actually.

So, I stop the song and go back over those icons, seeing if I can get back the feeling.

Well, yes, it was definitely a happy feeling, even if slitheringly so. It was one of hope, most definitely. That kind of impending apprehension, as I said before; like you know you're possibly entering something really fucking great, and you're eager to begin.

Yet there was something else there too. Like I said, apprehension. A hesitance, an almost fear.

As I said above, "you really don't know how long it'll last, that[...]blatant chance." And yet...

I wasn't turned off by this notion.

Which, really, was beyond odd to me. Loss, in most cases, is not considered a good thing by the sane-minded. Naturally, security in that you won't lose something tends to go with that.

It was in the way I was just reading the icons, really, that gives it away. Just look at that last icon, reread that first sentence as if you don't know what the answer will be. And yet the entire time you know that, hey, just possibly, it's likely the answer you want it to be.

And that high so drives you, despite you knowing it could decide to kick itself out from under you when it pleases. Against your instinctual judgement, you pursue after it.

But it's also that returned act. That feeling when they respond, when they actually respond to that request for a kiss, when you actually take that chance and it happens to work out as you wanted.

It's that concept of trust - and, shit, that someone actually cared enough to do as you trusted them to. It's an astounding feeling. And, really, far more accurate a one than "Haven't Met You Yet" gets at (I can only guess that this was the reason the mood dissipated as soon as I started playing the song). I've said this before in an adequate enough way, but I seem to find it important enough to repeat (or I wouldn't have bothered to write this post (admittedly, I nearly decided I didn't need to)): no, you have no guarantee that she or he will be magically waiting for you before the end; Hell, you have no guarantee that you'll even end up with someone you'll be happy with.

Again, I will strongly argue, the really cool and amazing and arresting (and terrifying and mind-fucking) thing about relationships is that concept that suddenly half of the control is just gone. It's not just you anymore – you have to rely on someone else's actions.

Now, of course, it's a little easier to look back fondly on this concept from the perspective of it working (i.e. these icons I've listed above). It's far less pleasant to speak kindly of this trust concept when it turns out that it didn't work, that the relationship is actually ending (whether in flames or calmly).

Yet it's really not fully avoidable. Any relationship you enter – it probably won't work out. You're almost amusingly naïve if you think otherwise. And, to be frank, you're childish if you think that every break up will absolutely be their fault; only my mother seems to find that the actual act of breaking up is a crime. People are allowed not to like you.

And yet – I like that feeling. For all its risks, it's likelihoods of falling through – there's absolutely something about taking that risk on someone, of actually feeling like such a myriad of possibilities as a successful relationship might possibly work out for you. It's that, "Hey, they returned my affection –they're interested in me," surprised fuzziness.

To be honest, it's far more satisfying a feeling than the notion that someone is out there who is right for you, you've just got to wait along enough.

Sure, I've got more at stake – but, like I've said many many times before (and probably will many many times throughout the rest of my life), the personality is so fascinating a thing. And the emotions and complexity of the human is all too endearing. Resting that trust in someone and all the many many things that means and the many many things that goes with that risk – I'd much rather have that.

Random things about me:

Listening to heavy metal through ear phones will always put me to sleep, just about. I love metal, but, if I'm not moving, there's just something absolutely lulling about it.

There's something so incredibly comforting about the night (when I'm not plagued with depression or stress). I love the morning (which is why I've been actually bothering to try to wake up earlier this year), but there's something regally gorgeous about the night.

I think I've almost fully lost faith in most of humanity - but this time I'm alright with that.

I really, really like quotes, even after all this time. Which doesn't make sense because all sorts of mishaps happen when you take things out of context like that - background is always direly important. But I still use them almost compulsively.

I really like contradictions. That's why, for example, both The Exorcist and Show Me Love are my favorite movies. There are some parts of The Exorcist that are just bad. Some of the acting still cracks me up in how over the top it seems, the violence is so rediculous sometimes to the point of me not able to take it seriously, and some of the choice of music and placement of that music is pathetic in how beating-you-over-the-head it is. Show Me Love is meant to be more like a home movie than a professional move in its film-work  so it's often incredibly awkward. Some of the actions of the characters are just funny in how bizarre they are. Yet both have these awesome themes and metaphors through them. Plus The Exorcist just nails so many parts, in terms of acting and what the characters are saying. They both basically cover all the bases, from dry humor (in part because of how ridiculous they sometimes are - I love awkward humor) to drama to fantastic filmwork to metaphors. It's a conglomorate mess that shouldn't work - and yet it does.

I would know I found the right girl if she proposed to me instead of the other way around, I almost definitely want to adopt in the future, and I'm completely okay with being securely lower middle class. All of these things about me terrify my mother.

I occasionally feel pathetic and selfish when my depression disables me to do anything or I feel unmotivated to do stuff because I know others have it so much worse than I do.

On the flip side of that, my dad was talking to me about my major a couple days ago, and I was explaining why, while I love history, I could never do it as a major; see, part of this is that you have to search through a ton of books and do research before a paper for history while English only requires wrestling with one text in a completely thorough fashion, which allows for a deeper and more thorough look through the text and I'm better at that than what I would have to do for history. My father thinks this means that I chose English because it's easier; he says as much with utter disgust. Well, one, no. I just explained what it was for you guys. However - so what if it was? You see, my dad also finds it so irritating and incapable of judging his oldest son for the fact that I'm slower at getting things done and put things off. Ignoring that fact that he can't let so trivial a thing such as the means I get things done (it's not like they don't get done) not get in the way of how he views and treats me, let me put it this way - I go suicidal periodically throughout the year. He should be happy I'm still breathing to this day. You see, I have to monitor what I do, when I do it, and how I do it because something as simple as doing something when I really don't feel like dealing with work can mess up my entire emotional well being for the day. Yes - I take a while to do things. I have to take a while to do them. For my well-being. To be honest, I'm not apologizing to my parents, ever, for how I've lived my life. Every choice I've made were well-thought-out, logical choices which I had to make in the face of their oppressive (in, honestly, places that didn't even begin to affect them, so I don't understand why they felt the need to intrude upon my autonomy), immature, and selfish "parenting". I've done things I regret - how I raised myself will never be one of them.
(sorry for dumping that on you guys, but I've needed to say something about that incident for a while now)

I just dropped my laptop off my bed; thankfully, it's okay.

I still have some of the coolest friends in the world.

I honestly can't take what little I've heard of Like Water From Chocolate by Common Sense seriously. It keeps sounding like he's trying to combine street rap (so saying purposely inappropriate things and trying to be "real") and political rap (so talking about revolutions and caring about the black community, etc.). He sounds like a fool; I may have lost nearly all respect for him from this album alone (though I still need to listen to the album more fully to really be able to speak on it; "6th Sense" off the album is nearly flawless, though).

I really want to get another rodent - and soon. I miss constantly caring about something, anything/anyone.
Thanks for the picture, Rachael

Btw, if it so interests any of you: http://www.themixtapeexchange.co.nr/

Can someone please just shoot me in the face?

I'm just getting embarressing...

I guess I should have an actual entry by now? It's been a bit of a while. Then again, my xanga has been more just my thoughts than an actual journal of my days. On the other hand...I haven't really given you guys much of actual entries as of late (either that or I'm just exercising my excellent inability to estimate time). So, for those who actually read this still, if any, what I've been up to as of late:

It's currently Winter Study, which means three weeks of one class chosen before Winter Break. I decided to take Atheism in part out of interest and in part because I thought a decent amount of the Williams Secular Community would sign up as well. Well...not exactly. A Freshman who attended some meetings at the beginning of the year and someone who had been abroad the past semester, so - at first - I thought that I knew no one in the class.

It's interesting. The class is basically entirely discussion based. We do some assigned reading the night before and then discuss the points made in them, which often unravels into many other related topics.

As for class makeup, there's 8 atheists, a Christian who's in Williams Christian Fellowship, and myself (Roman Catholic, born and raised (the raised part is a joke)). Andy is, I think, Evangelical, but he's ever so slightly more liberal in his theology (believes in evolution without discrediting the notion of a relative creation story). It adds an interesting element to the discussions.

I haven't revealed my own religious convictions to the group yet but that's largely because I don't want to commit myself to anything when I'm wrestling and weighing different types of arguments as much as because I like to play with expectations and it's easier to play the Devil's advocate when your identity is ambiguous (and, I suppose, passing has just become second nature to me by now).

However, Andy (the Christian of the group) did happen to catch me outside of class when my crucifix was outside my shirt, so he was happy to find a fellow Christian in the class. In a situation that seemed so ironic it just has to be beautiful, it soon became clear that not all our same tenets aligned as I disagreed with him on what tends to be, regardless of sect, something most Christians believe in - whether belief in God is necessary for entry into Heaven. Neither of us left the conversation persuaded by the other, but I absolutely loved the conversation regardless.

It's an interesting class and I'm really enjoying it, though disliking the 10 page paper due at the end. Plus only 2 weeks left of Winter Study....

As most of my friends know by now, I sprained my wrist playing broomball with the Marching Band. We won the game (quite beautifully with 3 or 2 to 0), though. It seems to be on the mend, which shocks me because it's only been 48 hours and I've been expecting at least a week for recovery. This, of course, doesn't discourage my general motto towards my body that if I let it take care of itself, it'll mend any sort of pain, disease, or cut on its own without any assistance.

Speaking of which, staying over Chelsea's dorm for the night to watch Tinman (sci. fi. version of The Wizard of Oz (she knows me too well...). Apparently the same person's also made a sci. fi. version of Alice In Wonderland) while Chels was sick turned into me catching whatever she had. I woke up this morning with the worst throat ache I've ever had. Taking my temperature confirmed also that I had a slight fever. It being 7:48 in the morning, I didn't want to deal with it and went back to sleep. By 2 today, the throat pain was barely noticeable anymore and (I assume) my temperature has returned to normal.

The less pleasant portion of this story started at lunch (though flared up partially yesterday). I was just sitting there and, well, I just wanted to curl up right there. It's odd to explain. It's like you want to be alone yet hate it, wanting to do something but all that ends up being is just rocking back and forth. It often happens when I just leave the presence of other people. The thing is, you can't really tell when it's gonna come. I'm pretty sure it's a result of depression - I mean, what else am I going to blame random, out-of-the-blue, tormenting, unsettling feelings on? While I can generally expect a downer after having a great time, it also seems to go in cycles. Combined, this can throw off expectation. The other possibility is that I'm just losing control more as time goes on. The depression (as it goes untreated) could be getting worse. I have a distinct feeling I'm going to suffer a panic attack someday soon, which will be a clear sign things have gone very, very differently. Then again, I've been talking about me losing control on things I once had since Sophomore year of high school, so who knows. I have to admit, there'd be a bit of comedy (that I couldn't well enough just ignore) if I avoided suicide those many times just to lose control of myself by wearing out depression.

But now I'm just being a downer. They say that there's two parts to therapy - changing the way you think, see things, et cætera, and the chemicals. Well, I know my shit is chemically based by now. Again, such mood swings that are so disturbingly strong are not normal. It's the changing the way I think part that bothers me. For one, I'm pretty sure my thought process and certain ideas and opinions (in relation to depression) are formed by the mental disorder itself. If I can be happy, the depressing is generally miles from my brain (though that might be a polarized effect - when I'm happy, I'm just happy and I'm over the top with it, a result of the fact that when I'm neutral I'm slightly depressed and "tainted" and then everything else from there is just worse; but I may be generalizing so don't take this as necessarily fact).

However - as I've said many, many times - there's a great beauty to the sad, the depressing. I still stand by my belief that pain makes the most beautiful people. To me, we can be breathtaking in anguish. And we cannot forget the amazing delicacy and beauty in recovery. To be allowed past those walls others construct is humbling when we remember just what it means to be allowed to enter those places of another person.

In many other innumerable ways, I find the depressing to be intensely amazing. Sure, too much of such a thing hurts (I've gone over this perilous system a million times in the past, no need for repetition). So, I'll pass on the therapy. Just give me something to fix this imbalance. I suppose it's void, however, since I'm likely never to seek treatment. Once you get past that hump around Sophomore to Junior year (those with this know what I'm talking about), it's easy to deal with for the most part there on out.

Gah, I'd really like to be in bed now...it's 4:43. So, while I was running to grab food as quick as I could for dinner, I stopped by the grill for pizza (bad choice, but oh well). As I was sitting, eating, this guy (I think) was looking at me. I just remember I made eye contact, it seemed I might know him, so I nodded as acknowledgement just in case. He nodded back and said, "They're not that bad." He was regarding my Black Sabbath t-shirt. "I've been getting into them lately, listening off of YouTube, you know; they're pretty good. I like Paranoid, and Sabbath Bloody Sabbath." Admittedly, it sounded so damn weird the way he said it, like they were a new band or something. But perhaps I'm biased, since I happen to think that Black Sabbath happens to sound downright Godly.

Now, I'm absolutely awkward socially and this is the most apparent in people I don't know extremely well. So, I nod, say that's cool, keep nodding, not sure what else to say. He nods, then kinda turns away and waves his hand in a dismissive fashion while saying, "Yeah." It basically looked like he wasn't sure what to say as well and then decided that that's all he could say and was confirming that this was, indeed, a good moment to just stop talking. Totally fair enough.

Then, for a split second, I think, "Wait, was he trying to hit on me?" Now, such random questions tend to pop into my head regularly, largely because I question everything (regardless if it deserves such skepticism or not) anyway. I generally dismiss such thoughts, as I did. But then I saw the guy talking to another guy I recognized who I know is gay but not really involved in the gay/Trans community on campus and not really with much of a gay identity.

So...maybe I wasn't so off after all. Which then makes his shyness just plain cute (but I'm a romantic, so I find any sort of stuff such as this by anyone as cute). He should've just gone for it; you might get a no, but you never know unless you try (alright, I realize I'm a downright hypocrite for saying this, but I'm trying to do better).

I got up to leave shortly afterwards but then The River by Springsteen came on, and I just froze where I was. I have to wonder if it's just nostalgia that makes me so affected by his songs. I literally just stopped. Then again, I was also still tripping off of these odd depression emotions (and drinking soda, laced with sugar, probably helped nothing). In any case, I ended up staying until the song finished.

Now I sleep!

I didn't think I was going to talk about it, but it seems I will.

I came home today, to sweet old Illinois. Far too much homework for me to want to think about, plus parents who are the embodiment of my own fears. But I really didn't think of that.

As I lay down to sleep the night before, running off of 48 hours that I'd been up, I rested contently. Going home.

As I walked down Albany airport, things running as usual and in an environment that I knew well, I had a gnawing at my stomach. For whatever reason, I was scared.

And as I walked through that airport in Jersey, having completed my first of two flights, I felt alone. Like I was watching life, privy to see but not partake in.

It wasn't like normal. It wasn't the burning, throbbing, bittersweet yearn of depression. It wasn't the violent shriek of my nerves when mired in a state of deep depression. Nor was it the enjoyable type, where watching is enough, where it seems I get to see the beauty of life itself in comparison and contrast to what awfulness is possible. It was just...empty. Like I was being kept from something I once had.

There wasn't the past or the future on my mind (odd for me). It was all right there - I just felt alone. It actually wasn't even empty. Empty is when you don't feel a want for anything. There's no desire. When I felt alone, I didn't like it. Didn't hate it because I wasn't angry. I just wanted to fix it. I wanted to reach out, to become a part of those I saw passing by.

I don't really know what it means, but it's not like anything I've ever had before.

I think I need an update on my consistant-huge-entry-that-compiles-all-of-which-defines-me. Right now, however, I need to finish homework and then actually hit bed. Maybe tomorrow I can actually do an entry that says something about what I've actually done during my day. You know, like a normal journal.

Until then, from the first of August from this year:

I've been trying since yesterday to think of something to say, but I don't know what I want to or even, say, "need" to.

I'm just at a point where I want someone here with me and our dual presense can be the answer to every question that may, will, or is plaguing me (most of those falling in the "I have no clue what they are" category).

Maybe the "answer" is temporary, or isn't really the answer at all. But it's nice and what I want for a while.

Well, Kaz said I ought to blog about today, so here I am. He also said I should do it at 2 in the morning, but I feel like actually getting to bed around 12 tonight. What does it say about us if he's already started mocking my life habits?

I honestly didn't know you could talk for 8 hours just about media (books, comics, and movies) and talk about the different themes, metaphors, plot, and messages those medias have. I would say I guess that's what happens when you get two English majors together, but I'm pretty sure I've never had that with any English major I've ever talked to.
On that note, in part in honor of Sorina, xkcd life relevance:

Anyway, amongst our long (long) conversation we came up with the idea for a short story (which is absolutely epic). We were discussing ideas of how to distribute our books (when we finally write some we wish to publish) and I accidentally said bus instead of truck for how we'd distribute. This led into this whole idea of stealing a school bus in order to distribute the books (probably due to a lack of funds to rent a truck...I dunno).

Suddenly Kaz looks at me and goes, "We could write a story of this?" To which I respond, "What would be the point? Where would it go?"

And suddenly we realize.

We had been talking about absurdism and literary nonsense (genres of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and Alice In Wonderland, respectively) beforehand and thought we might apply it to the story.

So, aspects of the story are to be absurd in nature (not entirely in the sense that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead were, however). For example, stealing a school bus for children to transport books.

However, the entire story is to be grounded in realism (in a sense). The story is real. They are actually doing this. Random, though completely possible, events continue to unfold (a certain chase in the library will occur).

Also, while written in a very, or relatively, serious tone will also include all the usual literary devices, particularly that of themes, motifs, and metaphors. However, those three literary devices will be completely nonsensical. Special, homemade soda by the character will stand for the corruption of human kind. As the two running protagonists crash the school bus and must resort to stealing a book mobile, the reduction in vehicle size (and capability of use for vehicle) will represent the price of revenge. And even more absurd metaphors, etc.

There'll be random references to really old authors and their works. We'll choose a random genre (such as existentialism) and somehow incorporate the piece into that.

In short, it'll be a completely coherent mess that'll be amazing. We're both brimming with excitement at the prospect of such a short story.

Plus it'll actually get us to start writing again. I need to get a notebook to jot stuff down in. As much as my own philosophy is to challenge and engage the world all the time, I find myself to be far too lax towards it. Either that or I just have very high expectations. Maybe that's why I'm an English major. Literary analysis seems to embody this (and with that barely related tidbit and topic to which so much more could be said, I leave you. Goodnight...and goodbye (Dinosaurs reference for you 90s junkies)).

I hate how fucking unstable emotions are. There's a reason I prefer logic. Suddenly I'm back to instability and not knowing what the Hell I seem to vaguely feel I'm missing.

It's 4 in the morning. Would someone tell me to go to sleep (though, I swear, I tried at first)? Thanks. I don't think I will.

It always struck me as odd that for someone who can be bothered by hardly anything, has no real issue with stripping himself open (granted, for certain people, though not that specific a group, for the most part), and gives barely a damn (at least outwardly) what others think can suddenly just shut down, wants to recoil into his own mind, and wants no human contact (physical or otherwise) for a good portion of time. Suppose it's a healing mechanism, but I've never entirely and wholly been a fan of isolation.

What it reminds me of is my last depression again when I had more emotional instability than I would like to ever live through again; not only because it's eerily reminiscent of that awkward feeling of wanting human contact and yet being irritated by the effort of managing and dealing with that contact. But, more principally, because I've always hated taking out my own mood on others. No, I'd much rather deal with it myself than risk that. And that, ultimately, is pointless. Because who wants to deal with anything alone? But I'd rather not depress you as well with my own issues; I wouldn't want to put you through that.

There is something raw and, really, real about a person baring themselves emotionally, their problems. For one, it's not easy; so go bravery. But it's cuts through the usual façade (I don't mean that in the usual derivative manner) that we naturally put on, to some extent, every day, depending on the situation, person we deal with, etc.

Yesterday, while trying to close the door to my room so we could go to sleep (it was basically pitch black), my mom scared my sister. Shaken, she runs back and curls up in a ball on the floor, crying. She covers herself entirely.

Now, I'll admit, why she started crying I don't entirely get. Being 12 years old and being perfectly happy just seconds before, it doesn't make entire sense to me. But we often get triggered in very random and pointless ways.

While the logical step is to apologize and check if the person is alright, my mother (being my mother) decides to just ignore her. The rest of us don't really do anything (since, granted, at 12 there's no logical reason to start crying over being scared. And, while it's rude of my mom not to check why her daughter is randomly bawling her eyes out, it was not rude, really, to have scared her). But, really, you can't just let her lay there, entirely covered, crying. There's just something inhumane about that. Too much comfort sends the wrong message; she is slightly over-reacting. But pain is still pain. And it needs to be fixed, always.

So I lay on top of her, hugging her as lays there. Now, there's a blanket between us. This physical barrier ought to be evidence enough there isn't this profound connection being made or that, at least, a direct connection is being made. But this physical touch, which allows me to feel every gasped breath she takes and every sob and the heat radiate from her and the crying slowly stop, is very profound. Just remembering the feeling it evoked is incredible; one of the many moments in life I wish I could better share with you. It's very important; and gives so much to another person.

Why is it I have to be so patient and accepting (and sound like a conceited ass in that sentence)? I mean, I really do have enough to deal with. No, forgive me, I can't fill out every request for help. I wish I could, believe me. If I could just solve problems for the rest of my life (and be capable of it), I would. I'd quite enjoy it. But I really I can't. And here I am, listening to the problems and trying to offer support. Tad bit hypicritical Jon, wouldn't you say?

Honestly, I'm not that eye-catching. And I can't even solve my own problems. I'm a false hope if you believe in me.

I should be finishing my paper. I still have time. But I wasted the day. I'm tired.

You know, I would really like to rant about appearance right now - I know, I know, you guys have heard it all before. But when I hear comments for Miley Sirus, listing the reason as to why they like because she's cute - pardon??? "Oh, I like Lily better because she's prettier than Miley." Well, would it be so surprising that this commenter winds up with a eating disorder someday? I shouldn't say that - that's so assuming, it's pitiful. But honestly? Is that how you live you life? Oh, he/she's not attractive, so I won't give him/her the time of day?

You know what - I'd love to subject each person to being an outcast when they're younger. Get picked on, feel insecure about yourself, never know if someone is telling you a straight answer or not - go through that shit and try to degrade another person after that.

Honestly, the things we pick each other over - it's so utterly petty. And disgusting.

Further, that whole, believe in God or you don't go to Heaven crap, no matter what you've done on Earth - I don't know much (I'm willing to contend very little, in all aspects of life), but if that's the basic measure of a man, we're in serious shit.

In a world that can be as utterly cruel as it wants, without humanity's intervention - people's acts of kindness are all we've got. You remember that, damn it - the only difference between peace and Hell on Earth is you. So, thanks for feeding me when I had no food, when you clothed me, when you gave me shelter - oh, and enjoy Hell, because you weren't a Christian.

Fuck you, you pretentious pigs. Yes, I'm aware I've ceased to even begin to construct a wholly logically based argument anymore, and I've also forsaken speaking politely. But I've seen more than enough of Hell. And I'm sick of bickering with the ignorant.

Imagine if you could be so enraptured in someone without having to gaze at the shape of their body, but just enthralled by who they are, the layered facets of their personality. Oh, I can't articulate it.

But you'd never get bored of them and they'd never cease to amaze.

EDIT Dec. 7th, 2008 7:21 PM: I think I got it today, while watching Colors of the Wind on YouTube, no doubt. A surprising amount of commenters were talking about the Wiccan religion, due to the striking similarity of its tenements and those in the video (belief in everything having a spirit or life and being important - assuming I've interpreted them correctly). And for one commenter ("I want to be Wiccan"), I was tempted to comment as a joke, "Don't say that - they'll be accusing Disney of being anti-Christian soon." Of course, I wasn't serious (though, considering Harry Potter and Twilight, who's to say). I was glad to see her exercising her opinion and making her own choices. Anyone who knows me knows I differ in belief, but (of course and always) to each their own. And then I realized my actual problem. As I'm sure you've all listened to the song, it's simply about acceptance and caring for each other. And I love that.

If I'm to go to Hell for thinking that those welcoming gates aren't big enough for so big of hearts - well, then fine. No one who knows me can say I don't love God, but I can't love humanity any less.

I owe my life to a questioning atheist and a deist. I expect to see their faces come Judgement Day.

Well, it's been a good morning so far - on top of getting no sleep, I didn't finish one of my papers, so that's added to tonight's hw, and I got a 65% on my Chem. test. I said it'd probably be worse than I expected. Great. I have a strong feeling my scholarship will be going down after this year.

I used to tell myself something - whenever there was this big test or some obstacle to jump, I'd remind myself I've been in this situation a million times before - doubt, fear, worry, whatever. Yet we make it every time. We always make it, for years on end. So you've gotta make it this time too, right? Well, obviously that thought process has worked so far. Of course, you could then argue that all you do is survive, not really enjoy life, but I need positivity at the moment. I've got a lot to do today.

edit: you can add sleeping through my Theatre class despite the alarm I set to my already worsening day. There goes band rehearsal and anything else I was going to attend.