It sucks when you get to the age at which all the things your parents told you are totally true.

So, I was going through old entries again, and I've realized that I've once again reglected my goal to write an autobiography. I have chunks of it scattered all over the place, on paper, in notebooks, unfinished letters, drafts of emails to people... but mostly a huge chunk in my mind. Maybe I'll start writing poetry or writing songs again. Someday, I will have really good stories to share to the world (under a pen name). If I actually made a point to write everyday, I'd probably be overwhelmed by my emotional capacities.

Time goes by so fast -- I had just moved to New York last June, and it's already almost been a year. A lot of things have happened, but I'm always amazed at how many memories you can create with people that you hadn't even met a year ago. I can't even imagine what would have happened if I had taken that other offer, or gone to a different school. And most of all, I can't imagine how I would be like today without having met these people.

Would you rather have a bad dream and wake up relieved or have a happy dream and wake up slightly sad?