www.whyville.net Jan 25, 2009 Weekly Issue

Times Writer

Grammar and Sentences

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Why is this mystery forced upon us? What is it's purpose? Is there some way to fulfill it? Fill it to the brim with whatever I please. There is something bigger out there and I can't stomach the sheer mass of it. The sheer size of it's greatness. What drives us to keep going? Who is driving the car that is your person?

Haunting questions.

Will there ever be an answer to them? When I look in the mirror I wonder these things. I've lived on this earth for sixteen years and I have yet to find an answer to a single question. Well, except the answer to, "What is two plus two?" But that is not the point. The point is, what is the "point" exactly? I'm never going to find my answer, ever. Just like we will never know if Shakespeare was gay or if Queen Elizabeth was really the virgin queen. Never will we have the answer to hold.

Death and change go hand in hand.

My thoughts on things change daily and I suppose that is part of growing as a person. Honestly, change scares me. It means that the world is moving along past me; leaving me, but with what? Definitely not answers. Change is probably more scary to me than death itself. Death, not a big deal. Just the end. Like the period of a sentence; final yet inviting the next sentence to continue. At my funeral I would love to have Rilo Kiley, The Decemberists, or Yo Yo Ma blasting through the room like a hurricane, destroying all the hurt and the pain and replacing it with love. Overwhelming love that no would doubt. No one would doubt that I loved them, even complete strangers.

Speaking of strangers.

Why do your parents tell you not to take candy from them? There is just as much evil in this world as when they were kids. There's no reason to jump in the car with them, but maybe they were just being nice. It's possible. And I know in my heart that I will be that cute old lady that hands out candy and watches stranger's kids while their parents are at work. Actually, that's my goal in life. If I could just skip all the years in between I'd be perfectly contented. That's a lie. I love people too much. Sometimes I think I'm too nice. I have never had a honest malice towards another person. Just tiny yelling matches but nothing major. And I could never comprehend killing another person. I've heard stories of people who killed their best friends or their sons. How could you kill someone that close to you? It would hurt enough for them to die. But if you did the deed how excruciatingly painful that would be.

My best friend, Hannah.

I can sit for hours in her living room watching reruns in complete silence and just be content looking at her. I love her; I love her in the purest form it could ever be in. Yesterday, I was at her house and she did my hair in high pigtails and it looked absolutely ridiculous. But I loved it because she did it. Then we went to a party; a girl's party that we didn't even know. It was really lame but we ended up staying at least an hour because each other's company was enough. And then we went back to her house and talked for hours about people, life in general. And this is what made me come to my conclusion; the answer to all.

Life is a journey. A journey to find ourselves; a journey to find out who we are. Only then are we able to understand why. But then it doesn't even really matter because you've reached the end of the sentence. And your arms are outstretched welcoming the next sentence. Period.



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