June 21 - Good morning, boys and girls. It's 12:08 in the A.M., and you're watching Perspectives. On tonight's program, we're going to talk about what Megan wants to do with her life and why she'll never do it. If you're just tuning in, it's 12:09 in the A.M., and you're watching Perspectives. Did anyone else really love that idiotic and pointless skit on SNL?

A couple of months ago, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to go to Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, and major in executive management or some equivalent thing and minor in hotel/restaurant administration. From college, I wanted to work my way up in the hotel industry and eventually establish my own chain of 4-star resort/casinos. Somewhere along the way, I'd get married to a wonderful man, and we'd never have any kids. I'd become filthy rich off of my hotels, retire early, and my true love and I would spend the rest of our lives travelling the earth and living in the lap of leisure and luxury.

Scratch that.

Now, I have absolutely no idea. I don't know what I could have possibly been thinking when I decided that I wanted to do the hotel thing, but I now know that I would rather eat off my own toes than do that. There's only one thing that even remotely appeals to me when I think about it, and of course, it's the one thing that I can't do. Here's what it is: I'd love to go to college and major in philosophy. I'd love it. But as nearly all college students know, a major in philosophy is a joke. On its own, it's pretty near worthless. The only thing one can do with a degree in philosophy is teach philosophy, and that even requires a teaching degree along with it. But God, I'd love to do that. I'd love to get a degree in philosophy and then work at some crappy job that they save for uneducated people to support myself, and on my off time, I'd just sit around and think.

See, what got me thinking about it was all of this career bullshit that they put us through in high school now. I don't know about other states, but in Ohio, before one graduates from high school, one must have a "Career Passport" - basically, a portfolio full of dumb shit that we'll never use because after college, it's worthless. I mean, who wants my resume from high school after I've graduated from college? Anyway. I sort of resent the fact that I've been pressured since the beginning of junior high school to decide what I want to do with my life, because damn - when my mind changes from month to month and week to week now, who knows how it's going to be when I'm actually in college? And in every career guidance program that's ever been forced upon me (sorry, I hate to sound like my rights are being violated or something - I realize that their hearts are in the right places and that it probably helps a lot of kids, but I get sick of it all), there's always been this underlying message: "Your job - excuse me, your career - is going to be the most important and all-consuming thing in your ENTIRE LIFE." Well, damn, maybe this is naive, but what if I don't want my job to be the most important thing in my life? What happened to having a job in order to support oneself so that one can live one's real life?

But of course, I can't major in philosophy and take on a minimum-wage job and sit around in blissful enlightenment for the rest of my life. I'm sorry, but I don't think that I'd do very well at handling poverty. Of course, I'm not going to have any children, and if I'm married, then I'll have my husband's income to take into account, but still. For my entire life, making enough money to never have to worry about money has always been my first priority when deciding what I wanted to do with my life. Except for when I was 3 and wanted to be a nurse. But after that, I realized the importance of money and made it my first concern. Maybe if I force myself to re-prioritize, then maybe I could follow my *snort* lofty dreams and do what I really would like to do. If I made myself think that somehow, poverty would be good for me and that I'd like it, then maybe I could.

And about marriage. Most girls count on the idea that they'll one day be married. But some girls don't get married. I may just turn out to be one of those girls. I mean, of course I want to get married, but truthfully, I don't know if I'll be able to find anyone that I can stand to be with for my entire life. I suppose it depends on whether you believe in true love and fate and destiny and soul mates and all that. I haven't quite decided. Maybe that's one of those things that you're supposed to decide after you've been in love. So yes, it'd be nice to get married, but I've begun to stop thinking of it as one of those things that I'm guaranteed in life. I know that I'm not going to get married unless I'm totally, truly, madly in love with the man, and total, true, mad love is another thing that I'm not counting on anymore.

So basically, what this whole terrible, disconnected update is about is that I have no idea what's going to be going on anytime after June of next year, which is when I'll graduate. I can't believe that it's come up so fast - junior high feels like it was yesterday. I'm going to be a senior. I'm going to need to decide what I'm doing by winter of THIS YEAR. That's so scary. But anyway, guys - I'm sorry that this is turning into a Goddamn journal, and I hope that you're enjoying it nonetheless. Please give me some motherfucking feedback.

June 17 - Two things are different about this update relative to the past three updates, and one is the same. What's different? 1) I'm not drunk. 2) It's the middle of the afternoon, as opposed to the middle of the night. What's the same? I'm in my pajamas. Well, if you want to be particular, I'm in my bathrobe. Close enough.

So what's new since last time? Not much, actually. I've been working just about seven days a week lately. As a matter of fact, I'm killing time before I go to work as we speak. Well, assuming that I'm reading out loud as I type and you are reading out loud, that is. I'm still "in love" with the same 26-year-old married man with a kid. You know, I was thinking about that particular facet of my life, which led me to reflect upon infatuations that I've had in the recent past. I noticed a pattern - I always go for unattainable guys. CIP: two years ago, I was working at - SHOO! I can't believe that I haven't told you guys about one of the most influential experiences of my life yet! Well, since I was just about to talk about it, I'll tell you the whole beautiful story.

That was the summer of 1998. That was before the Beatles came, before President Kennedy was shot, when I couldn't wait to join the Peace Corps, and I thought I'd never find a guy as great as my dad. I know you guys know what movie that's from. Anyway, I had a job at the Dairy Queen located at Eddie's Grill, a 50's-style patio burger joint located on this place that everyone around here refers to as the Lake or the Strip, a.k.a. Geneva-on-the-Lake, a tiny, quaint little tourist town just northwest of where I live. The Strip is so named because it's basically just a streetful of restaurants, shops, motels, bars, and bikers, with a tiny amusement park thrown in. In the summer, it's where people of all ages go to walk around, eat, buy junk, sing karaoke (badly), show off their classic car or their bad-ass motorcycle, shoot pool, get drunk, etc. Eddie's Grill is kind of the principle landmark. It's actually been there since the 50's, and even though their food is unbelievably overpriced, everybody's just gotta have an Eddie's Grill hamburger when they go down to the Lake. Along with the DQ that was inside, there was also an Eddie's pizza place next door.

It was my first job. I was 14 years old, about to become a sophomore in high school, and I was just about shitting myself. I had a job! I was making money! Even if it was only $4.85 an hour under the table, I was a proud member of the work force! Most of the people I worked with were teenagers who went to another high school. There were only two or three other people from my school who worked there. Well, I'm sure you've all been in a position in which you're surrounded by new, exciting people. The old people start to look pretty shabby, don't they? A contributing factor to that was that my best friend of three years and I had just had a huge fight shortly before I started working there, and so we weren't on the best terms with one another.

Two months later, I hated everyone and everything besides my job. I hated my old friends, I hated everyone at my school, I hated my parents, I hated my house - nothing was safe from my hatred. I was hardly speaking to my old friends. Why? Well, I can't decide whether the personal changes that I was going through just happened to coincide with my working at Eddie's, or if they were an effect of working there. Either way, I was beginning to look at my life in a different way. Those of you who are adults - remember when you were in high school or junior high school and you had these friends and you all just assumed that you'd know each other for the rest of your lives? Especially your closest friend, one who'd been that way for a while. You figured you'd go to the same college, room together, get an apartment together after college, have a double wedding, move in next door to one another, and your kids would be best friends. How many of you really did that? At what point did you realize that you probably wouldn't be friends "forever"? The summer of '98 was mine. I think that was the point that I began to realize the difference between assuming that you do care about someone and actually caring about them.

The point of this was to tell you about Bob, and then connect him with the current chain of events in my life. Bob was a guy who was always hanging around after we closed. He had worked for Eddie for some years, but didn't anymore. He was one of the funniest guys I've ever met. He was 5'5", had a lazy eye, and was an awful dresser. I worshipped him. He had the most beautiful sun-bleached blonde hair that I would play with all the time. He was also 19. Now, as I think I've said, 19 isn't such a big deal now, but then...I mean, damn, I was 14 years old. Then, when I worked at my last job, I was into this guy who was 20. I was 15. MY POINT IS that I think I have an unattainability complex. I always go for the ones that I can't have for some reason or another (usually age, sometimes marriage) because...well, I don't know why. I have many theories. One is that I am maybe unsure of myself and instead of actually finding people with whom an actual interpersonal relationship would be feasible, I prefer to admire guys from afar, knowing that they're "safe" and that I would never have to face an interpersonal relationship with them even if I wanted to do so. Another is that I find older guys more exciting than younger guys. Another is that I, like most girls my age, desire as much drama as possible in my life, and this is one way to get it, seeing as how all I can do is get depressed over this and feel sorry for myself. You be the judge, guys. But anyway, off to work I go now. Feedback is appreciated.

June 11 - It's real late on Saturday night/Sunday morning and here I am yet AGAIN, drunk off of my ass. I've been messed up since school got out, I swear. I got out of school Tuesday morning, and all I've done since then is gotten drunk/high and worked. Summer vacation's five days old, the weather's beautiful, and I've spent all of about five minutes outside. I've gone through about eight packs of cigarettes since Tuesday, too. Fuck me.

I said that I wasn't going to drink tonight, either, but after work, my grandma and I went to Flying J and then we came home and I got a Pepsi and then I left it in the bathroom, and I said, "Gram, is my Pepsi in the bathroom?" and she said, "Yeah," and so I went in and got it and she said, "What, no screwdrivers tonight, pansy?" And so I said, "Well, since you mentioned it..." She didn't really call me a pansy. But she might as well have. Did I ever tell you guys that my grandma's called me a dildo before? Yep. One time, my grandma actually referred to me as "dildo." This is my 79-year-old grandma. She's cool as hell, though. I mean, imagine getting peer pressure from your GRANDMA to drink. And so here I am, drunk again. I am considerably less drunk than last night, though, fortunately, considering that I have to go to work at noon like I did today tomorrow and I felt funny when I woke up this morning. I've never actually been hungover. I just feel really heavy and I have sort of a headache for half an hour or so and then I'm fine. So it wasn't too bad today, so it'll be even less bad tomorrow.

I don't know why I even bother getting drunk when all it does is make me sad. I mean, yeah, for a while I feel really good and I talk a lot, but then I start to feel really depressed and then I listen to some sad songs like "Bed of Roses" by Bon Jovi and then I start to cry and it's just not pretty, no matter which side you're on. I kept Sarah on the phone until after 3 last night because I was so busy feeling sorry for myself and whining to her. Mad Propz to Sarah, if you're reading, which I'm sure you are. But I mean, damn, that's a real friend. I mean, there she was, sober as hell, and there I was, drunk as fuck, and she actually listened to me for like, 3 hours, talking about my stupid insignificant problems. And all of my problems are insignificant, because I make them for myself. I go and become infatuated with 26-year-old married men with children, and then I wonder why I cry when I'm drunk. My life isn't any more terrible than any other girl my age, and yet I manage to be a generally sad person and feel sorry for myself all the Goddamn time. Why is that? I mean, this guy I'm in love with - his life sucks ASS. Major ass. And he's stuck in the situation he's in for at least fucking like, sixteen years or so. And I've got only a year until I graduate and then I'm outta hyah. What the fuck am I complaining about? I know a million people whose lives are worse than mine is, and yet I feel sorry for myself anyway.

So anyway, me being drunk and all, I'm just gonna listen to more stupid and sad mp3s and feel sorry for myself about being in love with a 26-year-old married man with a kid. I'm working tons this week and I go back home probably tomorrow, so I won't be updating as much since I won't be drunk, and so you may or may not hear from me this week. Just come back, motherfuckers, and see whether I've updated. I'm averaging like, 3 hits a day, two of which are probably me, so what's it even matter? Peace out, niggaz. (I beg the pardon of anyone who may have been offended by that offhandedly-used racial slur.)

June 10 - It's real late on Friday night/Saturday morning, and here I am again, drunk off of my ass. It's actually like, 3:25 in the morning.

I wish I wasn't in love with this 26-year-old guy. It's so sad, because it's like, I'll never be able to have him. I'll never be with him, we'll never kiss, I'll never get my buck on with him, he'll never hold me like he'd hold the one he loves. He'll never love me. It's not fair. Life isn't fair. And of course, I keep downloading these sad-ass mp3s so that I can feel even more sorry for myself. I just downloaded Extreme's "More Than Words," which is like the saddest song in existence, and so I'm crying and feeling sorry for myself as I type. It sucks. Why am I so Goddamn gay like that? And "Bed of Roses," by Bon Jovi. I'm so Goddamn stupid. I'm a dumbass. Why can't I be like other girls and be pretty and date stupid, normal guys and not know the difference, instead of being infatuated with 26-year-old men? I'm so stupid. It doesn't matter, I suppose. I'll never fall in love and be married and have a beautiful family - well, I won't have a beautiful family anyway, because I will never have children and that's a promise - so it doesn't fucking matter. Oh, well. Y'all don't wanna hear my drunken ramblings anyway, so I suppose I'll sign off now.

June 9 - It's 1:05 on a Thursday night. I got out of work like, three hours ago and I'm sitting here at my grandma's house, drunk as fuck AGAIN. So here we go, guys. You get to listen to my drunken rambles - consider yourselves lucky. When I'm not alone and I'm drunk, the only people who get to hear it are Sarah and Christina. Hi, guys, if you're reading.

So I'm in love with a 26-year-old man. And I'm listening to sad love songs so that I can feel more sorry for myself about it. Not just any 26-year-old man, either - a married 26-year-old man with a kid. And his wife's a bitch. A skanky bitch, nonetheless. And oh, the guy with whom I was "talking" about a month and a half ago is "in love" with this skank-ass girl. We stopped talking because this one time, we were on the phone - oh, yeah, she's the sister of this one guy with whom we used to work - and he was telling me that he met her, because she went to my high school and I know who she is and that's how I know she's a skank, and then he starts telling me how pretty he thinks she is. I mean, DAMN! We were supposed to have been talking! Who does he think he is, telling me he thinks this other girl is pretty? Needless to say, we stopped talking soon after that, and then he comes into my place of employment three days ago when I wasn't there and starts telling everyone how he's in love with this skank. Well, fuck him. When this skank fucks him over, who's he gonna run to? Me. And what am I gonna say? No, not that I'm in love with a 26-year-old man, but...well, I don't know what I'm gonna say, but we're not gonna be talking ever again, let me assure you. Not that you care. I'm sorry for rambling on and on and probably making no sense. I'm drunk, so deal with it. This is the third night in a row that I've been fucked up on some illegal substance. Well, illegal for me, that is. School got out on Tuesday, and so I've been "celebrating" since then. Although it seems that every time I get messed up on whatever, I feel like never doing it again while I'm doing it. Then I can't wait to do it again the next day. Utter lunacy, I tell you.

I miss my brother. If y'all haven't read my Brotherly Love spiel, then you don't know that my brother, Kevin, works at Cedar Point during the summer and so I don't see him for months on end. We don't usually get along, but sometimes we do, and it's those times that I miss right now. I miss him. If any of you girls who are around 20 want the hook-up, I got it, as long as you're reasonably pretty. Kevin never exactly had the ladies flocking to him in high school, but he's become a pretty good-looking young man with lots of good-looking friends, so if you have a hankering to be my sister-in-law, e-mail me and come to Sandusky, Ohio for a weekend and I'll direct you to him. He works the Wildcat at Cedar Point, so go there and look for the tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed one. He's a nice boy, although he is an alcoholic. He spends all of his money on alcohol. Y'all don't care.

So anyway, about this 26-year-old man with whom I'm in love. I'm not going to give you any details about him, because who knows who the hell's reading this page, but I do love him. The whole thing's lunacy. I know that I'm not really in love with him and that it's just a harmless infatuation, but you know how some guys like those totally complacent girls who'd bow to their every beck and call? I am not a girl like that. I must retain my independence above all, whether or not my independence is like that of others. But in this 26-year-old man's case, I'd be one of those complacent girls. I want nothing more than to cater to him for the rest of my life and make him happy. Screw my own hopes and dreams - I'd throw them all away just for the chance to make him happy. Making him happy would become my goal. It would take the place of my hopes and dreams. Of course I've felt this way before.

I'm done with dating. Recently, I started thinking. My last boyfriend, to whom we will refer as "Mattress" from here on out, for reasons that I don't feel like writing, sucked. Mattress was that complacent little girl. I should probably start by saying that Mattress was my first "real" boyfriend - "real" as in during my high school years, and not junior high or less. I was so macking it in elementary school, but in junior high, the boyfriend count reduced. That's probably because during my junior high years, I was ugly as fuck. Good Lord, I am so drunk. Anyway, I was ugly, and the boyfriend count went down. I'm talking two for the two years of junior high, I had two boyfriends, both for less than a week in seventh grade. This was quite a shock, considering that in sixth grade, I had five boyfriends over the course of the year. So Mattress was really my first real boyfriend in the sense that he had a car and we actually "dated" before we started "going out." But the thing with Mattress was that I was so desperate, I made excuses for him in my own mind. Like, okay, he was dumb as fuck. But I tried to rationalize and say that he wasn't. Also, he had apparently watched too many bad movies, because he'd say the most melodramatic and cheesy shit to me. Like, this one time, he was telling me how much he cared about me, and he said, "Every day is like a new day when I'm with you." Hello!! Every day is a new day, whether you're with me or not! And this one time, about the time that I was getting sick of him, he asked me on the phone, "Are you mad at me?" and I said, "No, should I be?" and he said, since we didn't see each other as much as he would've liked, "Not unless missing you's a crime." What a fag, huh? Anyway, he also wore tapered jeans and high tops. And oh, yeah, he was sort of fat. Now, I've got no beef with fat people. As long as y'all aren't wearing halter tops and coochie-cutters, I've got no problem with y'all. But there are more disgusting kinds of fat than others. Like Mattress - he was flabby. See, he COULD'VE been a hot guy. If we could've gotten him a haircut, given him a new wardrobe, and lost him about 20 lbs., he would've been one hot motherfucker. Oh, yeah, and given him a full-body waxing. He was a hairy bitch, too. He'd've been hot. But anyway, I know that that was only one experience of the many that I'll have, but I really can't see me falling in love with someone, period. I mean, this 26-year-old guy that I'm in love with is good-looking - guys, he has these beautiful blue puppy-dog eyes to die for - and the thing is, I idolize attractiveness. The only way that I can see myself falling in love with someone is if they're extremely attractive, because like most members of the human race, I like attractiveness. But even in attractive folk, there's always something wrong. They're either not smart enough, or they're too immature, or they're too whatever or not enough whatever. I can't marry anyone or even date anyone who isn't perfect, because I get so sick of them. Like Mattress - he was too dumb (not smart enough), too melodramatic (not realistic enough - like that stupid "every day's a new day" shit - what the fuck?), didn't have a life - he seriously had his world revolve around me. Like this one time, me and my friends were gonna go shopping on a Saturday. We were gonna look for prom dresses. Well, I thought we were going to Mentor, which is only like 20 miles away. I always got Saturdays off from work so that I could go out with Mattress. I had that Saturday off. So I get to Kim's and I find out that we're gonna go to Sharon, Pennsylvania, which is like, 60 miles away. Me and Mattress were supposed to go out at 6 o' clock, so I called him and left a message on his answering machine that I'd be late. I meant "late" as in like, 8 o' clock. He apparently thought "late" meant 6:15 or so. So what does he do but fucking go to my BEST FRIEND'S house and get her to go LOOKING FOR ME with him. He fucking LOOKED FOR ME! And he called my house, talked to my mom about where I might be, etc... I mean, God, get a fucking life! But anyway, I'm done with dating for at least the rest of high school. I know now that I'll never find a guy who can measure up unless he's like, 26 and married. Which brings me to...

This guy with whom I'm in love. Oh, guys, he's just so great. He's got the worst luck of anyone I know - he works 24/7, he's married to a bitch in a marriage that he can't get out of, and he manages to be a wonderful guy anyway. It's just my luck that I'm totally in love with him and he considers me to be nothing more than a damn good Service Assistant. It's too bad that I'm so Goddamn ugly, or I could get him to have an affair with me. That's another thing - me being ugly. Someday I'll scan a pic of me onto this thingymajig, and I'll let you be the judge. Sometimes I'm not sure. When I'm with my best friends - Sarah and Christina, who are both beautiful - I feel very ugly. But when I'm alone and drunk, I think I'm the beautiful one. Someday I'll post a picture and you guys can decide whether I'm pretty or not. And be honest, please.

I'm listening to "Africa." I miss my brother. I said that already, didn't I? Napster is God. I have the most eclectic mp3 collection on the Net. But this guy with whom I'm in love. I'll tell you as much as I can about him without being too obvious, just in case anyone with whom I work is reading. He's very tall - 6'1" or 6'2", at least, because I'm 5'8" or so and I only come up to his chest when I hug him - and he has beautiful blue puppy-dog eyes and a beautiful smile. And he shaves his head. I used to be very scared of him, because he has a very commanding presence (read: he's fucking intimidating). When I first started working at Chi-Chi's, I was scared of all of these people, and every night that I worked, I'd take an inventory of how many intimidating people were working with me, and he was always one of them. Maybe it's that he has no hair. Who knows. But as I started working more and more, I realized that he has the shittiest life of anyone I know and no apparent way out of it. And it's sad, because he's so obviously lacking love in his life. Maybe that's why he's so nice to me. I'm a damn good Service Assistant - S.A. for short. My job is to fry chips and clean tables and basically do whatever the servers ask of me. I love it, because it's so nice to be appreciated. I guess I don't get enough appreciation at home, like every other teenager in America. Anyway, I think that the only reason he likes me is because I'm such a good S.A. and I do all kinds of extra things for him and the other servers that aren't really my job but I do anyway because I want to be appreciated. I'm sorry if I'm rambling, guys, but I'm so drunk that it doesn't matter. I can't believe that I'm typing all right, although I am using the backspace key an awful lot. But at least I'm coherent enough to be able to recognize that I'm making mistakes, eh?

Maybe I have an unattainability complex or something. I mean, when I was fourteen, I was into this 19-year-old guy. Mattress was 19 and it wasn't no thang, but when you're 14, 19 is a big jump. Who knows. I don't feel like writing anymore. I don't ever want to get drunk again. But I know I will.

June 3 - It's June already, guys. The time has been flying, like, hardcore.

I saw Dogma for the first...three times the other night, and I must say, that movie kicks ass. I loved it. I actually cried at that movie. Of course, I cry at any movie that doesn't have Eddie Murphy in it, so that's not saying much, but that was such an awesome movie. And of course, it led me to think about all kinds of things, as I'm sure it led all of you.

The question "Why are we here?" has become sort of like "How are you?" now. When someone asks you how you are, there are a million things that you could answer - like, say, the truth - but the majority of us automatically say "Fine," regardless of how we actually are. In the same vein, when the question "Why are we here?" is posed to someone, they automatically give some generic answer like, "Only God knows," or "I don't know," without really thinking about the question. Since you guys are reading my page, it's obvious that your intelligence is at a considerably above-average level - :) - so I'll assume that you have really thought about it. (If you haven't, now would be the time to do so.)

Guys, I have no idea what I believe. My religion page? Throw all of it out except for the absolute truth parts. I've always said that I don't know what I believe except for that there is some higher power. Well, things have changed. I don't know if God's an honest-to-goodness deity, a force like fate, a status quo, myself, or if there is one at all. The following is an excerpt from my journal that I wrote immediately after watching Dogma for the third time:

A bunch of fucked-up shit has been going on, none of which I feel like talking about, and I'm left with one question that can only be called "desperate": Why am I here? All of these stupid worries that I have - school, work, my parents - why does any of it matter if I don't know why I'm here? What am I doing here?! What is my purpose?! What is the uprpose of the entire human race? What the hell happens when we die? Am I the only person who actually exists? Does anyone else even matter? Is that why I can't bring myself to really care about anyone? Why am I here? Am I living for my own personal enlightenment, or for other people? Am I the center of my own universe? What is God? Is there one? Or do things just exist? Is the state of existence God? What do I believe? I swear, this isn't some pretentious pseudo-intelligent rant of mine designed just to make me look smart, I swear. How am I ever supposed to figure out what to do with my life when I don't have any idea what I believe? I just don't know anything. God, what I'd give to know the truth and have all of these inane questions answered. I feel so lost, so fucking lost and purposeless. What do I believe? How can I find out? What if I spent my whole life "enlightening" myself only to find out that I believed the wrong thing and I really should've been helping people? Who's going to tell me? How do I know? And what if I'm holding myself to a standard that doesn't even exist? What if there is no purpose to anyone's lives? What if I'm spending my time worrying about it for nothing? What if there's nothing after I die? I don't want to die. Not now, not ever, because I DON'T KNOW! Why am I here? Is there even a reason? How will I ever know? Is there a deity watching over me and the rest of mankind, if the rest of mankind even exists? Or is there just a force or a balance or a status quo or a TRUTH, a non-negotiable, infallible truth? I just don't know, and I hate it. How will I ever know? If I never know, my life will be pointless. But if everyone's life is pointless, does it even matter? IS THERE A PURPOSE? IF SO, WHAT THE FUCK IS IT?

That was the point where I got tired of repeating myself and fell asleep. But I think that pretty well expresses the state of confusion that I've been in since seeing that movie. And don't misunderstand me - the movie didn't make me think about it, it just kind of reminded me of it. But really - I have no proof that anyone else on earth even exists. I never will. And neither will you. And I actually wonder sometimes. If I can't even make up my mind about something that most human beings take for granted - that there are other human beings - then how am I supposed to make up my mind about what I believe? As of right now, I don't believe anything, as far as existence and God go. I guess you could say I'm agnostic. But what I really am is confused. Hell, same difference.

You know what's funny? After writing that in my journal, I turned on the 11 o' clock news. First there was a segment on lawn care, then one on gas prices, then one on backyard barbecues. It made me mad. There I was, desperately questioning the fundamentals of existence, and these people were worried about fucking lawn care? That's when the worst part of the whole thing struck me. There's no one to whom I can talk about this. I know exactly what would happen - I'd start talking, everything would come out wrong, and I'd end up sounding like some pretentious wanna-be trying to sound deep. That's not what I want. I just want to find someone who understands. I mean, "understands" as in "has gone through this themselves," not "understands" as in "gets what I'm talking about." I know you guys all get it, but I don't know if any of you have gone through this yourselves.

Which leads me to the Question of the Moment...How did you arrive at your current system of beliefs? This is really important to me, guys. I'd appreciate hearing from as many of you as possible. Mail or sign, please.