Looking down the canyon, thinking too much about bungee-jumping.
Wednesday, 01/09/02 - 9:09 a.m..

I happen to be going out this afternoon. I'm going to the Houston Community College to see what's up. Simple. Denise keeps rubbing in my face how hard it's going to be life after this year. Thanks, I appreciate that. No, really. I do. Who knew life would turn into roughness itself after 16 sweet years I've been leading so far? I've always gotten what I want in a silver tray. But hey, that's not my fault, ok? Try coming into this world as a girl when your parents had given up hope and wanted two more kids, and there are already four teenage siblings. I was born with Diplomatic Inmmunity, so to speak. Life's been relatively easy for me, despite I bitch and moan about many things almost everyday....*Simeon lifts left eyebrow*...ok, ok, everyday.

So, as my brother has clearly pointed out, I'm taking way too much time. If he was me, he'd have already called ten places (colleges and institutes) and would have gone to high school for at least three weeks. He's not me, so right now he's off to the Hospital to work. I know he would have though. I know all of my siblings would have. Because they've already done it before. I've come to realize that these sixteen years I've been floating down a stream and.....wait, that's Mama Kin:

I've been dreaming
floating down a stream-and
losing touch with all that's real
.

*Sigh*...you're right Steven (now I talk to some rockstar in my head). That's how my life has been. My stream is house - school. I've never moved out. I've never changed school. Years ago, everyone agreed that the house would be my kind of my "material" inheritance. But, as the lyrics to Eat The Rich go:

I believe in rags to riches
your inheritance won't last
so take your Grey Poupon, my friend
and shove it up your ass....
.

(err, don't mind the last two sentences...)

Thank you for thinking of me, my dear family. Thank you for reserving that house for me, thank you for having bought a space for me in the graveyard already....thanks, but no thanks.

So maybe if I go today with Denise (whether I wanted or not, she'd take me, anyway) I'll be less afraid of this life I must adopt as mine, because these sixteen years have been quite pleasant...pleasently monotonous, monotonously pleasant, I shamelessly admit it. But I have to kiss these sixteen years goodbye.

My brother says that a good way to find out what one wants to be, is picturing oneself in ten years.....baby, I see myself on top of the world, but I have no clue how I got there. That might have worked in The Emperor's New Groove, in these sixteen years, and it even might work for another couple, as long as I live with mommy and daddy, because I -up to the present time- have no big -concrete- goals, but there'll come a day when I'll have to put aside my "luck beliefs" and take real responsabilities for what I do and for what I do not. Take real, meaningful goals. But maybe I'll go for the "short-term" plans, I think that's the next logical step.

Of course, everything I said sounds different when you're eating an apple pie with nothing to do around the house but developing your ballheaviness (being lazy, that is). What I just said sounds smart, but at least for this morning, it doesn't go beyond being a handful of promises.

My cousin told me that it's amazing how one person can learn a lot about swimming: what's the best brand to wear, how to breathe, how to move your arms, how to move your head when it comes out, how to coordinate arms and legs, what's the best position for your fingers so water can flow freely among them, you name it. But as long as you don't get into the water, all the things you know mean shit. You know by heart all the swimming theory someone could ever learn...so what? you can't fucking swim!

I think those changes, the changes I need, I want to make, the changes life will make me make, will come quietly. It won't take an entry of a diary to happen, it won't take words. Because when I talk about this, about my "plans to come up with real plans", I start to think. And think. And think again. And think some more. And keep thinking. And I'll die thinking, withouth acting. Thinking is infinite. Mind is infinite, how many things can you think about? How many theory can you learn about swimming and how will it be of any use to you if you don't get into the fucking water?

In words of Aerosmith: Talk is cheap, shut up and dance.

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