This was, I believe, the first weekend I went without my beloved hobbit friends, Dave and Lara, for a while now. And it was rather a dull weekend. I guess I've become used to a consistent time of laughing and eating with them. I basically wasted the weekend for all it was worth. For some reason I was overcome with this crafty inclination and I sat in my room like a grandmother decopaging a jewelry box for Lara. Thank God I don't know how to knit.. that would have been truly tragic.

I'm a little more than halfway through Kerouac now, and it's just intensifying. There's this beautiful underlying virtue in all of it... even the commonly amoral things. There's something so lovely about it all. Divulging your life to a complete strangers and just being in this ecstasy where you connect with everything just because it's there. I love it. Only now it is emphasizing my mundane life which I have been protesting for some time, but am helpless to any real action. So I have wonderful books to read and a boring life to live. I don't know what is defined as boring... being introspective and isolated is beautiful, but not on the weekends! I'm so rapacious for some sincerity. I just want to go out and grab random people and rebuke sleep and talk and get down to the soul. Such a world within a world. I don't know. Like here I am thinking God, I hate this, isn't there anything beneath the surface of this shitty place. And all the while everything is encased inside I just haven't gotten to it yet.

Age is such a restraint. It's a drag being 16 sometimes.. it's a drag just being any age.

But summer is coming and it will strip away facts and forget anything but emotions.