"they are nowhere in her thoughts as she dives beneath the waves"

Brief recap, for those paying attention to the fact that I didn't blog yesterday-

Sunday was an exercise in sin and vice. Mostly gluttony. (Dave and I each ate an entire medium pizza, and talked smack about men.) Did get to see Bell, which was nice, though the apartment felt empty sans Courtney. I remember when she and Bell, then me, Brad, Nicole, and whoever else practically lived there, all were one big dysfunctional family. It was great. Greener pastures, though, seem to have called all of us.

Today, I had a doctor's appointment (which was fairly pointless), my algebra class, and then hung out with Jinah and her mom, then her dad, brother, and friend Andy. We made chocolate/caramel fondue on a whim, and sat and ate it with fresh fruit, ruminating upon the fine points of life. Well, if you count talking about being overweight (probably from eating whole pizzas and fondue), lamenting classes, and our ever-so-cryptic personal identities "fine points." There were other important bits of discussion, but that's not my business to get into, so if you feel like knowing, ask Jin.

Tomorrow, I start up my philosophy class, in addition to the algebra class I started tonight. I'm not looking forward to algebra, so I'm hoping philosophy will be fun. Psych will be hard to beat, but anywhere in that league would be acceptable.

Anybody have comments of the feasibility of taking out student loans so I can better afford tuition, living expenses, and a MacBook Pro? Granted, the MBP probably costs more than the other two combined, but it's all important to me. ;-) (boo, I want a 2GHz PowerPC laptop, though. Oh well.)

This entry's title comes from a song by The Presets, called "Girl and the Sea." It was last week's iTunes freebie and I can't keep myself from listening to it at least once daily. For some reason, the imagery combined with the sound makes me happy.

All I've got lately are bits of no consequence, and other peoples' stories. If I ever have to look back on the part of my life preceding this one, and if I'm ever asked to justify it, I'd probably respond by saying, "at least I had a lot of stories." Stories are important to me. I guess being a writer (or something like it) will do that. Other peoples' stories are amusing- I couldn't pass one of Dave's off as my own to save my life- but I'm far more satisfied by writing my own, and they seem to be in short supply lately.

What does that mean to me? Why are stories so important anyway? I think they evoke a sense of longevity, even if I'm the only person who ever reads what I write down. Somewhere, somehow, somebody could read my writing, and remember it. I ultimately hope that one day, something I write will change someone's life, but that might be too much to hope for.

That's why they're called hopes, I guess.

I was thinking about roughing out a screenplay a few days ago, but I realized, I have no idea what it's about. This is when I should've been working on my paper, and should've been attending to some laundry, or something. My creativity peaks when I'm using it to distract myself from something more important I need to be doing. How else could I have rationalized warp drive in my head when I was about 9? Oh, because I watch too much Star Trek. But seriously though, theoretical physics (without math) are totally cool, and I'm totally smart, so shut up, poophead.

All these time-travel themed couple of days seem to have gotten to me.

You know? Check the gravy. I might write a story that is and isn't mine.

(DB) out.