I have no desire to grow old. I don't mind growing wiser but I don't like the idea of slowly falling apart. Unfortunately, my Dad is a very unpleasant reminder of this every time I see him.

Why is it that we as humans seek to be more than we are? Why do we fight to leave our mark on the world?

I ask these questions because I hate feeling like this on days like this.

I am in a generally foul mood. I feel like I might just rip through my skin with all the pint up energy and drive.

I also hate how at this moment my former cat Napoleon is staring me in the face with a tiny purple bow stuck in his hair. I pray I NEVER

Some people are very lucky to lead deceptively normal lives. It's all in the facade I assume.

I guess linking all of these thoughts together I crave a highly normal life. I don't desire to be famous and only enjoy recognition when it is deserved. I want to satisfy myself and someone else who makes me smile. I'm not happy unless other people are smiling.

And because I am in one of those moods here is some more writing just to get it out of my head...

She had no greater wish then to move like smoke. Elegant, flowing, ethereal...ever present but quickly dispersing into the air. Smoke that lingers only in sense memory, caught in your hair right before you shower. The kind of smoke that only appears in a good film noir.

He sat across from her and watched the smoke from her smoldering cigar play in the faint candle light. He had no idea why he was attracted to her. She didn’t make much sense to him. She was whimsical and serious all at the same time. He could never quite read her. She was like the Sunday LA times crossword puzzle; long elaborate and quite impossible to figure out. But if one put forth the time and effort they would feel rewarded by the sheer accomplishment. All metaphors aside he knew one thing that she excited him.

She was like trying to hold mercury in his hand. You had to have the perfect grasp on her otherwise if you were too tight she’d slip right out of you reach. And if you didn’t hang on to her she just slid right off you hand. The only problem with finally figuring out how to keep her around was that she like mercury wasn’t exactly good for your health. You could keep her around but she needed to be encased in a thin glass tube, meant for one to only look and never touch.

She tapped her cigar lightly against her fingers to ash the growing cherry. She knew he was looking at her but wasn't quite sure if she enjoyed his gaze. Instead of focusing on the intensity at which he watched her she let her mind give into the general buzz of life in the room. She could feel the pulse of the piano. The tingle of the white and black keys mixed with the peaceful swaying of the room. She only ever relayed on her feelings. Unlike, the look he gave her she was sure of this energy. Men's glances made her nervous and always put her ill at ease. But, she could feel this energy, this heart beat of the music taking over her mind. It was a bit like being intoxicated. She loved every minute of it. The bittersweet echo of the piano and white noise of the general group around her. Here is were she felt alive and lazy all together. Just like a lionesses, patiently switching her tail from left to right. Watching everyone and playing out different scenarios in her mind. Calculating everyone’s next move. She loved the intoxicated feeling of it all.

She was one of the few great watchers left in the world...

That is something I have been working on for awhile...It feels good to expel it all out.