Flight Paterns of the fat birds on the roof of the old building outside of the window that I look through during my Spanish class

There are these wierd chubby birds that have incredibly interestig flight patterns. You may be thinking, "Sam, why are you looking out the window watching these bird, when you should be listening the the drone of the professor?" Well, Kaia, the answer is, my desk faces the window, so when I sit and look in the direction of the desk, I am inadvertenly looking out the window. So, anyway, outside the window I can see the roof of the building across the sidewalk from the building I have Spanish in. It is a nice roof. It is slanted at about 45 degrees, give or take. The shingles are this red curvy thing, like what you would imagine on a Spanish casa. But, back to the birds, there are like 60 of them. They are grey. Pretty ugly. But they are funny. They will all land on the roof, mostly on the peak, but on the slanted part too. Then a few at a time will fly off, and then more and more will fly off. By off, I mean out of my eye sight, because remember, I am looking through a window which I am all the way across the room from. Anyway, pretty soon all the birds are gone. This all happens in about 30 seconds. Then lo and behold, 20 seconds later, all of the birds are back sitting on the roof. It is the most curious thing. They will repeat this ritual like 15 times. Fly away, come back. They aren't eating or anything, because they don't have enough time to go grab a bite and than make it back to the roof in the time that they are gone. Sometimes there is a rebel who doesn't leave with the rest of the group. He is my favorite, the little devil. Anyway, I'm sure you enjoyed that. Tune in next time for some interesting interaction with the crazy squirells.

I just spent an interesting three and a half hour car ride contemplating life...and death. Mostly death. I can't deal with people dying. My cousin died this weekend. It was hard for me, even though I don't ever remember having one single conversation with him. I have a big family you see, and he wasn't even my first cousin, he was my second. Still it was hard. He had cancer. My grandpa died of cancer, so this brought back a lot of bad memories. Espesially for my mom. It was different for my grandpa, though, because he was 50. Granted that is still really young, but Lee died at 29. 29 years is all the time he spent of the earth. I wonder if when he was 15 he thought to himself, man, my life might be over half over. Of course he didn't. Because at 15 you are invincible. At 18 you're still invincible. Heck, you're still invincible at 25, unless you have cancer. Than you die.

I don't know why I have such a hard time with death. I hate the thought of the end of a life. I hate that that person didn't get to experience everything they want to, because lets face it, who experiences EVERYTHING they want to in life? Name one person. You can't. Even if you could, you couldn't do it with certainty. Because deep down, that person wanted to do something outrageous, something so daring or unlike them, that they were afraid to tell anyone about it. I have those things. I have a list of them actually. A list of things I would do it I had more time, or more money, or more courage, or I was less afraid of the consequence, or of how people would react.

I'm a bit of a wandering spirit. My mind is always soaring to different places in the world. In my head, I meet people from all walks of life. They are alive, they are dead, they are legends. But they are real in my thoughts. I'm trying to decide what I want to do in my life. I'm having some trouble, because I have an idea of what my parent expect, and what my teachers expect, and what my peers expect. But I want to travel, and I want to help people. I want my life to mean something. I want to make a difference. I've looked, and so far I haven't found a career that is "people helper" or "difference maker," heck, I would even settle for "world saver," I'm not picky. But there are no jobs like that. They don't pay well. How is a person supposed to support a family, when they are traveling the world, trying to make a difference? How do I know what a difference is? Will I know if I make it? When I die, I want people to say, "Wow, there goes someone who really made a difference, not only in the lives of the people around her, but in many more peoples live." I take that back. I don't even care if people know I made a difference.

When people ask me what I am going to do with a major in Math and Spanish, I will still say "I don't know"...but I will think "make a difference." The only reason I won't say "make a difference" is because most of the people who ask that question don't care about the answer. They are just making small talk. They would feel weird if I said what I wanted to. They would feel obligated to ask me to elaborate, and the ensuing conversation would be way too deep that they wanted to go. I know how it is.

I'm sorry this was a rambling hodge podge of thoughts. I have a lot of things on my mind.