It became quite scary when all the bridges were shut down and you basically couldn't get out of New Jersey. I didn't go to school either. My school, which happens to be directly across the street from the two highest buildings in Philadelphia: Libery One and Liberty Two.

I was also kind of upset after I called B's house. His father had to go to New York. As the head of the Health and Human Sevices organization of Jersey it was kind of required of him. At least he had a fun helicoptor ride up to the city.

I would hate to be there. I was horrified that he would be up there helping FEMA put the morgues together. What would that much destruction in front of you do to you? I would handle it, I think, but would use it as the cause for flipping out later. I think I'm fucked up in the head somehow. Or, I would just do what I have to do, be half breaking down the whole time, and file it away.

I think everyone has thought at least once about being one of the people in the buildings or on one of the airplanes. In the WTC when all of those people falling was shown I told B that given the choice between burning and falling I'd chose falling. If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die flying, even if it means hitting the ground. He said he wouldn't chose suicide. I didn't think of it like that. I took it as a choice between options.

That made my little "what do I belive in?" question pop up and swirl around my mind. B is postulating the *End of Days*. Did he think that I hadn't thought of that? I've read such interpretations as Nostradomus' prophecies and conversely LaHay & Jenkins' "Left Behind" series. I was the one that gave him the damn books!

That's the difference between me and everybody else. I don't share anything. I take things in. I look at them, try to understand, and then shelve them away. I see things as many different groups of information, organized into sections of classifications such as: stories, religion, history, events, people. All placed next to each other, seperate piles, teetering half-falling mis-mashes. I don't think about things, not really. Well, I do, I can't say I don't think or I'd be drooling down myself with no sharp objects in my vicinity. But I don't comment on them.

I listen to other people's opinions and put matching colored tags attached to those piles. I don't feel like anything I would have to say would be relevent. I envy people that can choose a side, pick a view point in what they belive in and argue that they are right. Everything just *IS*. To me everything exists side-by-side, different parallel truths. And in my mind they stay that way, balancing, until one day there is enough weight to one side that settles it down to the ground. The other side then just floats, still attached like a helium balloon, a little tenuous nylon ribbon tying it down. You can't see the balloon but you can see the reminder. I can't completely disguard anything. *That's why my bedroom's so cluttered** I'm cluttered. I'm not a librarian in my own mind. I'm just the one who watches the building.

I'm starting to think I'm too objective. I used to have that problem in my English classes back in high school. Used to...right, still have. Pick a side? Forget about it. Forghetabo'it! Comparison? Right on! Point by point comparison? Even better. I don't see things in black and white. Very rarely. It's just gray. Light gray, medium gray, dark grey. Little bit right, little bit wrong. Whole lotta right, whole lotta wrong. But never completely. That's wrong never not rarely.

I don't know what I belive in. That's why I flipped out at R yesterday. You can't know who you are if you don't know what you belive in. Therefore, I don't know who I am. He wants to know what I think about. I rarely tell him. He asked me if I had a personality. That hurt. A lot. Maybe if I send him this it will explain some things. Blubbering, I told him point blank *I don't know who I am* Hell! He asked me that a long time ago and I wrote a Alice in Wonderland-esq poem about it!

I believe in general rights and wrongs. Wrongs: murder, stealing, rape. But how wrong? Murder for nothing = black. Kill one man that was going to kill a couple of thousand, gray. Some one that was trying to beat/kill/rape you = gray. Rape? unequivable wrong, black black black. Stealing = gray. Stealing food because you're children are starving, light gray. Stealing when you can afford it or when you can afford a lesser quality version, dark gray.

Compassion. Sympathy. Asking right or wrong is only black and white. Motivation is the essance of gray. I maybe too kind. Too willing to give some one the benefit of the doubt.

1, 2, 3, 4...

(This is not smut, or porn and it is not always explict so don't be expecting anything)