So I had just been reading this book by García Márquez, and I read one line, an unimportant line, random, not even worth the memory, save for one thing. I read it, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of smallness. In the second it took me to read the sentence, I was crushed with the idea that I'm only one person, and that there are billions of other people in the world that I don't know anything about. Reason would ask why I'm having this feeling now, instead of in a month when I will be surrounded by a culture currently unfamiliar to me. I don't know. I don't even know where my head is. Sometimes I imagine someone else is doing exactly what I'm doing at exactly the same time, or I wonder what they could be doing instead, but still sometimes it is hard for me to believe that other places and people exist. Obviously there have always been other people than me, in foreign and exotic places, with exciting memories of things I can't even begin to imagine. I'm not a realist, or idealist or nihilist or whatever it is called. I don't believe that I'm the center of the world and I've created everything around me. I don't believe it, but I've thought about it. What if, what if? I was the only person who actually existed and I have created everything around me, and as soon as it is outside of my contact something ceases to exist. What if my roommates, sleeping in the next room, aren't there until I enter the room? What if I can see the glare the street light throws on the wall when I look, but when I turn back to my computer, it is gone. It is an interesting theory to ponder, but I am too realistic to buy into it. If I'm the center of my universe, why would I create pain? Why would I create such an intense yearning for someone once they are gone, or why would I make them leave in the first place? I can't hardly think it is some subconscience effort to grow as a person, because if I'm creating everything, what is the point of growing as a person. Sometimes I think about it the other way too. What if I'm the pawn of someone else's ideal. And if I am, who's? Someone who thinks about me a lot...because I always seem to be here...But maybe I just don't remember when I'm not here. Or maybe I sleep when I'm not involved directly in their world and I wake when I am. But then why do I sometimes wake alone? I'm not alone. That is the point, isn't it? There are so many people and I don't understand anything. I can't imagine what it must be like to go to bed hungry, or wake up the the sound of shells bursting a hundred yards away, or even to go to a school without computers, and come home to somewhere without running water. It all seems so impossible. How can anyone even take me seriously because I'm so ignorant of so many things. What does it really matter that I know a little about music or movies, or even history and math? It seems to me that I will never be able to learn enough about others to truly understand them.

Steam of Conscience

xkcd.com

2:41 am

frictiva: fffff, tthhhh, ssss, ggggg. Oclusiva: dah, buh, muh...what are the others. Dang it. I knew them before...study again in the morning...the morning, only a few hours away. I'm tired, yet wide awake. I should go to sleep. Stop thinking, Sam. Clear your mind. Maybe I should count. one...two...three...oooh! my favorite number. 3 x 3 is 9 x 3 is 27. I wonder what the square root of 3 is. Between 1.5 and 2...1.8 something? 1.7? STOP. go to sleep. close your eyes. take deep breaths...in...out...in...out...

2:55am

I still have to write a page for my paper. What should I say. I should have finished. Oh, I forgot to sign out of messenger. I wonder if anyone will talk to me...No of coarse not, stupid. The rest of the world goes to sleep at this time. Why am I still awake?? I hope that girl gets a flight with me. I wonder if we should get a room in a hostel. Should we leave the airport during the layover? It will be a long time, and we will be in Poland. That could be interesting. I wonder how a person gets kicked off a train. Stealing away, obviously, but other than that. Do airlines have the same stipulations in all countries in terms of carry-ons? I wonder how much liquidy stuff I can bring. Toothpaste. Is mascara liquid? What about cover up? Does that exceed the limit? What should I pack? Mostly just clothes. and tampons. They don't have tampons with applicators there, they just have the tampon. Ew. A girl in my class has mono. What if I get mono in Spain. God that would be stupid. I need to go to sleep. Ugh. Just take deep breaths and you will drift off. Come on.

3:11am

Why is it that when I want to go to sleep the most, I can't. Maybe I should keep studying. no. don't think. close your eyes. Close 'em! Whoa. If I watch the colorless paterns on the inside of my eyelids and make my mind hazy and then shift my eyes really fast, I feel like my head is actually spinning. It is like I can get out of my body. Ohh. Stop that. It is making me sick. No, stop. Great, not I can't keep my head still. Open your eyes. Now close them. Again. Okay. Try to think about something. I wonder if my friends will be the same when they come back. How much will they change. They sound the same online. But that is just typing. I wonder if they find a National Treasure to go to in Europe if they will go without me. Well, why would they find such an overtly American movie in Europe anyway. And I was going to go without them once, and then once when they came back. So what is the difference then, as long as we go together. I wonder when it is too soon to call them to hang out. Family time is good, I know....

3:26

Twenty five more minutes of this and I will have laid here for and hour. One whole freaking hour that I could have been studying...or sleeping...hhhh.....

Mistakes are the portals of discovery

The thing about me is I'm a big dreamer. I get ideas and I let them transform my mind. I have set goals for myself, and I tell my mom, but she says they are unrealistic, and I fall silent, until one day, when my dreams become actions and change the world. I'm sorry that my mom was pushed into the "real world" when she was still a kid. I'm sorry that she didn't have a chance to go to school, or to follow the dreams that she must have had, once. I'm sorry she hates her job but is too content or scared to change her life. But it isn't my fault. I hate how she suppresses me, and I know she doesn't get it. She doesn't understand what it is like to have big goals and a drive to pursue them, or maybe she just never had big goals. Sometimes I wonder what it is like to be content. Maybe that is what my mom is, content just to be, to have no need or desire to do something important. What is important really? It is relative to each person, I suppose, so maybe what my mom is doing is important to her, and that is fine, but it isn't good enough for me, and she won't be able to make it good enough. I used to tell her everything, but now, we are too different. If I mention anything about traveling around for extended periods of time, her response is almost always disapproving. Knowledge of other cultures, increased worldly understanding, compassion, beauty, these things aren't what she thinks about. I feel like she is almost bitter because she doesn't have the opportunity and passion that I have. In my head, I push against everything that holds me back, I fight.When I'm actually confronted, even if what is said is just to be funny, I smile politely but say nothing. You can't bottle up my dreams, my goals. If I want to make a difference in the world, if I want to be part of a cause, of chaos, of compassion, if I want to reject the redundancy of everyday life, I will. If I want to witness humanity, I won't let you stop me, and you won't be able to. I hope that my ambition will not harm our relationship, and I will work hard to keep it at least as strong as it is now, but I can't tolerate your continuous insistence that I am making a mistake. Maybe I am, but then, let me. I can only learn so much from the mistakes of others.

updated list of things to do before i die, in no particular order

-read the Bible
-be a foster parent
-rifle whip someone with the butt first, and then the barrel
-jump off of a moving train (possibly onto a moving horse, but horse not necessary to fulfill dream)
-roadtrip from LA to New York, or the other way around
-join the Peace Corps
-learn how to pick a lock
-hot wire a car
-figure out that opening-a-car-door-with-a-coat-hanger trick
-do something important
-visit all 50 states
-fall asleep under the Northern Lights
-go to grad school

Theater Theory

I am of the opinion that when attending a motion picture on the big screen, the audience has the power to make or break the movie for me. For example, if I am watching a comedy but noone in the theater laughs, I will come out of the movie saying "yeah...it was okay, I guess." But if the audience things it is hilarious, I will come out saying "yeah, yeah! I want to see that again!" I have experience in this.

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.

Interesting lyrics, I think...thought provoking

Sleeping In--The Postal Service
Last week I had the strangest dream
Where everything was exactly how it seemed
Where there never any mystery on who shot John F. Kennedy
It was just a man with something to prove
Slightly bored and severely confused
He steadied his rifle with his target in the center
And became famous on that day in November

Dont wake me i plan on sleeping
Dont wake me i plan on sleeping in
Dont wake me i plan on sleeping
Dont wake me i plan on sleeping in

And then last night I had that strange dream
Where everything was exactly how it seemed
Where concerns about the world getting warmer
The people thought they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in November

Dont wake me i plan on sleeping
(Now we can swim any day in November)
Dont wake me i plan on sleeping in
Dont wake me i plan on sleeping
Dont wake me i plan on sleeping in

So, I hate the media. They are so nosy. They should be allowed to go to press confrences, they should not be able to roam a community and push cameras in distraught peoples faces. I suppose though, if they weren't allowed to, they would be going on about freedom of press...That all I really have to say about that.