People talk of destiny as what’s going to happen in your future if your life is already planned out in advance. However, if you do not know what your destiny is then it can’t possibly contradict free will, unless you’re a robot or something. But that would mean everyone would have to be a robot, going along in exactly the precise plan laid out by some sort of God as to not interfere with your destiny. Destiny doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t effect your free will, unless, perhaps, your actions revolve around a subconscious idea of what your destiny may be.

I awoke at five-thirty this morning to bicycle to my boyfriend’s house. As I stepped outside into the brisk morning, I thought, “I might need to check up on Lion,” my pet mouse. “I don’t recall the last time I fed him, but I’m sure it wasn’t too long ago. Just yesterday, probably. I hope I fed him fruit.” I gave him fruit whenever it was accessible. I walked back inside and took a small fist full of cereal out of a box and walked over to my mouse’s cage. “Lion!” I said, as I pulled back a large cardboard box leaning on the small table his little cage sat upon. And I saw him, laying on his back, his eyes half closed, and his little pink paws relaxed into the air as if he were stroking his hands as he passed away. I sighed as I walked away from his cage back outside, and tossed the cereal into the grass. Lion.

My little bald mouse! I had bought him at Tom’s Tropicals. He was a tiny white monk with a scab on his forehead, and I had swayed my friends to buy him for me because I knew no one would want him… his destiny had been to be snake feed. I named him “Lion” for the irony; not only was he a mouse, but he was lacking of hair. My friend, Lexi, who bought him for me, told me that I should put some sort of ointment on his head so that it wouldn’t get infected and said he probably wouldn’t live that long, but Lion didn’t seem to appreciate the ointment and bit her. He liked me though; Lion was cool as shit. I’d rub his cheeks and behind his ear, and he would close his eyes and flatten himself in my hand with the most blissful look on his face. I’d carry him around on my shoulder or in my pocket; he’d hide in the hood of my sweater and fall asleep. Once I was having a horrible day, why it was so horrible I totally forget, but my little man stuck by me the whole time. He sat in my hand and did nothing else for hours; I fell asleep with him there and when I woke up, there he sat, still. He only did that once, though… that had been the only time I needed a companion. Lion always enjoyed being with me; all I had to do was stick my hand in his cage and he’d immediately cling to it. I’m pretty sure he loved me.

I buried Lion when I arrived home from Dylan’s. I took his little body out of the cage and held it for a while in my hand, hoping I’d spot a little heartbeat. I rubbed his little tummy with my finger and scratched him behind his ear, then placed him in the hole I made in the ground and covered him. My little Lion; my little man. He was the coolest little mouse ever; I love him.

I am guilty of texting in school. In not all of my classes do I text; in Health I cannot text for it is in the basement (and would not text because I value what we learn in there too greatly) and in English I do not allow myself to text because I respect the teacher for she actually teaches and cares about where her students end up. However. My two art classes, though I respect them, I can sneak a text in there every now and then without guilt (unless already engaged in a conversation with one of my friends). In Tech Ed, for I cannot text constantly, I find distraction from my teacher’s mundane lessons through drawing pictures and reading books, or whispering quietly with my friends. He doesn’t teach anything worth while: he gives us what simple task we need to do then goes on and on and on and on about it. Same with Creative Writing. I long for the buzz in my pocket in that class; my brain has a definite dopamine release from it. If only we could actually WRITE in Creative Writing, at least most of the period! But so much of it is wasted by a teacher talking and pausing and explaining: a teacher who claims that he hates wasting time. And then Art History. This is the one class I actually feel somewhat bad for not giving my full effort; I am one of a mere six taking the class, a class that wasn’t one that could just be signed up for: you had to be CHOSEN. So, I feel bad. Someone chose me, and I’m constantly showing them that they made a mistake, every day. It’s online! I hate to stare into a screen and taking notes on architecture. My brain goes dead as soon as I enter the room. I’ve tried Adderall but to no avail; my resentment towards the class is too great to be medicated. In this class I find other distractions as well; after all, I have the internet at my fingertips. Microsoft Word as well to catch up on my writing skills that I cannot develop in my Creative Writing class. Yet human communication is by far much more satisfying than any other means of engagement or distraction, and I do love receiving a text. I’ve sent texts about Art History before as well, when I read the lesson, which is, actually, more often than not. And Lunch? You can’t yell at me for texting in Lunch; even my administrator believes we should be able to do that, even though she can’t change the rule.

I have no money on my phone. I cannot text. I’m up early and cannot call any person at all for fear of waking them up, and would rely on texting which is so much more convenient… but no. Alas. No minutes. And no one to help me put minutes on my phone, terrible credit card authority figures. Because they found out through the phone company that I text in class.

I need a credit card. Now. Sorry for this rant… I needed to write about this. I’m very pissed off. Sure, maybe I’m addicted to my phone, but merely when I’m bored. I’m bored right now and wish for my phone to be in my pocket so I could text someone and ask if they’re awake, and feel that security knowing that they might text me when they are, and I shouldn’t be bored any longer than I have to be. Alas, alas.

I knew that we have control of our own destines but this documentary revealed to me that yes, it can be tricky for some people to grasp that control.

If you can’t control your emotional state, you’re obviously addicted to it.

People who dwell on certain emotions have a more difficult time escaping those emotions and feeling something new. Our cells are effected by our emotions, and create other cells that are more likely to feel the emotions we allow ourselves to feel. If a person dwells in negatively, their cells will produce other cells which will more responsive to that negativity and less responsive to positivity. I’m not exactly sure but I think this is probably why people suffer from depression and take pills to aid them. They don’t wish to put forth the effort to get their cells to cooperate and have the drugs do it for them. If my theory is correct, I’m not too sure if this is a healthy way of going about it (the easy way generally doesn’t benefit the soul near as much as the hard way) and if I ever slip into depression, I shall find my own way out. For, as one of the speakers on the show said, I am God. And it is great.

Thank you very much. I haven’t been writing as much (or as interestingly) as I used to for I haven’t been reading as much as I used to… Today is a great day for reading, however, and I’m trying to post more. But thank you for the compliment.

There is something about wearing khaki pants that feels quite exceptional. Today I had a job interview at Ace Hardware which I had to dress nice for, and yesterday, at the Goodwill in search for an outfit to wear to that interview, I, for the first time in my life, put on a pair of khaki pants. I did not wish to take them off.

For the rest of the day, I wore my pair of khaki pants. They made me feel very put together and intact; it was quite a different sensation than what I am used to. I felt as if I could really join the working class and be a successful human being. That night I took them off and the next morning I put them back on again, and walked out my front door feeling confident about my future.

Pride and Prejudice, I hate you. Do you know how many other books I would rather be reading than you? But no, you consume all my reading time, you terrible, terrible book! I mean, I love you, but I would love you far more if you didn’t throw yourself at me like a whiny, clingy girl. English is a horrible subject; we shall leave it at that.

Graffiti artists mark territory, much like dogs. The police and others get the artists back, much like one dog would get at another dog for trespassing on his territory.

War, homosexuality, and abortion are some of the many ways humans hunt one another. Or, something hunts humans. Much like we hunt deer to keep their population under control.

Whoever is rich and powerful survives: natural selection.

We need to eat, drink, sleep. Animals.

Probably a lot of other examples, but those are some I thought of tonight (and perhaps have been thought of by others before) that I wanted to get out.

We, like other animals, are just one little spectrum of a fractal of life. We’re a fungus on the earth. Zoom in, zoom out, you get the same picture.

I believe when you let a drug enter your body, you’re allowing it to use you as a tool for it to get out its influence to the world. They might not have a physical presence but definitely a spirit; everything has a spirit. Is marijuana dead when we receive it? And then, its spirit is inhaled, and it proves to us that even in death, it has an effect, and a presence. We have spirits as well, and when we die, our spirit will leave our body and have some kind of influence… who knows what? But then there are man made drugs, whether legal or not, which do this as well… some kind of spirit enters us and uses us. Some artificial spirit. Who says that we can’t make artificial intelligence, when we have already found a way to make a body (the pill) containing a spirit?

I feel like, ever since Gracie died, I’ve felt a lot of anger. I’ve been pissed off at everyone, pissed at everything. Irked and loud about it. I swear a lot more often, automatically, and seriously. Many times I feel like everyone is against me, even myself, and if people act like they’re for me, they must be apathetic or sucking up because really, I don’t deserve that, and it makes me feel even more angry. I wonder why I live, I’m exhausted by life, but I’m not the type of person to kill myself. For the first time, I have felt genuine hate. I’ve never felt this feeling before. It’s drab and gray, and makes me feel inanimate and dead. Changing the world is hopeless, though… I feel as if life and color has been taken out of me. I have nothing to live for. Gracie gave me unconditional love, and I knew when she showed me love, she meant it, no matter what… I need a new rat. Of course, Mom and Dad would much rather me be in this state than allow me to buy a new rat. I would never prevent my child from owning a rat… never. Never.

Emily strolled barefoot on the crumbly red ground; it glowed in the setting sun. The roar of the waterfall only steps ahead of her stormed upon her ears and a breeze brushed mist against her face. She lifted her head and the warm, orange light flooded her face, blinding her eyes. She took one last step and dropped, down, down, passing by rainbows shimmering and dancing off of tiny water particles in the air. The waterfall overpowered her laugh as her hair was smacked back and forth through the wind. She closed her eyes and lay back upon the air as she broke through it, then she forced her limbs out to make a star. A smug smile appeared on her face as she felt a harsh smash as the water caught her and lifted her body upwards.

            She sat up and crossed her legs upon the watery hand and watched as the water separated in the center of the fall into a large mouth. The mouth frowned disapprovingly and the waterfall spoke, “Emily.”

            “Yes, Arthur?” she said sweetly.

            “Never mind. I don’t even think I want to speak to you right now.”

            “Don’t say that, Arthur. I jumped with the sole reason to speak with you.”

            The waterfall grimaced. “You jumped because you-”

            “You are really doing this?”

            “Look, Emily. We’re not all here for your own amusement. You can’t just prance around doing whatever you want. Just because we are commanded not to off you doesn’t mean that some of us won’t be pushed to do so. Especially when you do impulsive things such as jumping off of waterfalls. What if I weren’t paying any attention? You could have fallen to your death.”

            “Arthur, you’re always paying attention,” insisted Emily. “You don’t have anything else to do but pay attention.”

            The waterfall let out a sigh and lowered her to the ground. “Get out of here,” he said, then the water was let to crash over his mouth and his hand fell into the river in front of him. Emily stood on the sandy bank next to the pool and muttered, “Arthur. What kind of name is that for a waterfall, anyway?” She rolled her eyes and sauntered gaily into the welcoming forest.

            “Hello, Emily!” said one tree.

            “Emily, you’re the best,” shouted out another.

            “Emily! I love you!” screamed another tree as it let loose flower petals that floated down upon her. Other trees picked up the memo and did the same.

            “I love the trees,” Emily said to herself as she walked by them, waving. “They like me much better than the waterfall. I receive no respect from him.”

            She stopped at a young Yellow Delicious Apple tree that grinned warmly at her. “Nice to see you, Emily.”

            “Nice to see you too, Hammond,” she replied. “How are things in the forest?”

            “Things are going smoothly. I’m enjoying life, at least.”

            “That’s good,” said Emily.