Dig deeper, Barb. You can do better than this.

Hello, noone. Not sarcasm. That's the way I like it. It's funny how I use the excuse that I no longer write a blog b/c I want to write about my life and everyone I know, but it's not possible b/c I've learned that ppl (at least the ones about whom you write) don't like that. I could just write on my computer like a journal, but it's more fun knowing that someone will read it. I guess that makes me a gossip. Who would I write about today? Rene, Juan, Alicia...They'd probably be the main 3. I wonder if I could come up with a secret language to write about them and me? Rosie O'Donnell warned against it b/c she was unable to read her journals from childhood b/c she had used a secret, made-up language. Weird the things you remember. I guess I could solve this predicament by promising to only write about myself.

The other day Rene asked me, "What would you do if you won the lottery?" I replied, "I would pay all my parents debt, I would help my brothers, I would buy a house." After a pause of a cpl minutes, I asked, "Why do you ask?" He said no reason and then asked what would I do for myself, like go to school or something. I said, "Maybe," with a probably not look on my face.

I broke for lunch and am now disinterested in the topic above.

I think that people are depressed because we haven't caught up to ourselves. We are animals that yearn to use our instincts, but everything around us is foreign and complicated. We want to survive: forage in the forest, kill and cook meat, mate, groom,...survive. Instead we have to put on a suit and live in this world made entirely of information. I'm sitting here on a computer talking to an alternate universe. I fear that everything we do is to avoid life. I guess I am one who would prefer to talk about it than do anything about it. I think that's where that feeling of emptiness comes from. There are too many of us. We ARE useless. We serve no purpose. There's no reason for us to be here that's greater than us caring about our own individual existence. I'm not sure I fully believe that, but it's what I feel at the moment. I probably just sound crazy, but we need to simplify. If I were this age during the sixties, I suppose I would have moved to a commune. Just look at how important we think we are like all of those before us who are now dead. Have we learned nothing? Why are we trying so hard for such unimportant things?

I sound like a hysterical woman, but just think for a minute,...why are you doing what you are doing with your life? Did you choose? Do we get to choose? Are we to make the best of what we have or make it better? I think I feel that as long as I have this vague sense of happiness when I ask myself and when I feel the radiation of that response eminating from the center somewhere, that I shouldn't question it too much. So many people telling me I'm not happy and me feeling pretty happy. The only thing that worries me is knowing this won't last because I have put that happiness into another person. Is that where it comes from?

I guess I know that I cannot be trusted with my own happiness. I am in a relationship that I consider very fulfilling. I don't think most people would consider it as such. Where are we going? What are our plans for the future? etc...All that future bullshit that fucks up the present. I know it is never safe to merely be content, but I am. I could do more.

Am I lying to myself again? Am I settling form less and buying it? I don't want to be out in the world searching. I want to settle. I want to nest. I think I've done pretty well for myself considering my journey here. It's not over. There's more. What will I do with it? All I know is that I'll figure something out.

If I'm alive, it can't be all that bad.

It's annoying reading this and knowing my intellect is subpar in terms of great thinkers.