89.

We always measure the validity of our lives, the time we have, the measure of success, it's all these numbers, and grades, and competitions, and ugh, sometimes it's nauseating. I mean why do we try to plan for the future, speak about our plans, plan surrounding our expectations, when nothing is the same as it was a minute before. I know i've done it: I'm not going to pretend as though i haven't been the victim to this ridiculous notion. I'm going through that age old college process, and it's nice: it's even settling to know who you want to be and what you want to do: but it's nothing if tomorrow we're nothing. or if there's something greater than plans: like emotions, and experiences, and friends, and loves, and knowledge. I don't know if I'm rambling, or contradicting, or even making any sense, but this stream of conscious sort of thinking is kind of how I'm operating right now.

I'm a fool. For so much, and my foolishness has kind of defined my life and my happiness, or guess at happiness. If i was so secure with my plans, and my expectations for life, why is my happiness broken by a lame response, or none at all, an email that houses a decision, or the response of my boss on not being able to make work on Thursday.

I don't know about much, but last night, as I watched this stream of light sparkle the dust in the air of a dark room, i thought not of how stuffy my nose would be, but of the universe, and the sparkling stars above: and how everyone of us is just a speck of dust, but in my opinion if you see dust in the right light--it's just as beautiful as a glowing ball of gas a million miles away. It's just as beautiful as a second chance, a glimmer of hope, a spasm of excitement, a rush of anxiety, or the solemn realization of a broken heart.

Thinking, as always, Valerie.