-Peer pressure
-A need for attention
-Boredom
-Too much to say and nowhere to say it
-An overinflated sense of self worth
And now for the actual writing.
Human beings are strange creatures. It seems as if we spend our whole lives wanting to feel something. Anything. Love is pain. And yet, we yearn for it like nothing else. We want nothing more than the approval of people who are only looking for approval themselves.
Today, my house was engulfed in the vomit of several million reindeer. There is glitter partout, and I fear I shall never be able to remove the tinsel from the mantelpiece. A multicolored, glowing plastic imitation tree stands proudly in the corner, laden with garish bits of memories. At first glance, it is covered in random crap. At second glance, it is still covered in random crap. And yet, everything that adorns its synthetics boughs holds a meaning. Each piece represents a time and a place. Not all of the memories are happy-- many of them are sad. But they're sad in that nostalgic way that's almost happy. That "I remember those days! I'm so glad we're where we are now and not where we were then...but I remember those days," way.
My friend worries about me. He knows I am nursing a broken heart, and thus has decided to make me cookies. I don't know if one can mail baked goods, but I wish him luck in this delicious endeavor. Speaking of mail! I received my acceptance to Pitt yesterday. My father will be heartbroken. If he had it his way, I would have applied to UNC and no other school, as it is obviously the only university on the planet. For a brilliant scientist, he can be frightfully dense. Speaking of dense rationalists... How is it that the smartest people are also the dumbest? Those who seem to know everything often turn out to know nothing at all. "Social intelligence," my roommate from this summer would say. "Some have it, some don't."
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