the taste of ink is getting old.

My back hurts from sitting in this wooden chair all day. Twista is rapping so fast through my earphones. What is he saying? There comes T-Pain to bring in the good. The thoughts that glide through my head with this Blogger window open. Random. Incoherent. Yet what else? My fingers are dead from endless hours of typing. I've downloaded all the good hip-hop/rap songs to my heart's content, and now I'm replaying it like no other under the playlist "baller, shit." And no, I'm not kidding. Skimming through the list, "Ball Out". "The Let Out." "Elevator." "Down." Would it kill you to be a little more creative, everyone?

I want this rain to end. Endlessly it pours, making it impossible for me to sport my boots unless I want to wipe tiny drops of water minute by minute. Besides, my entire wardrobe has all of one winter coat and pitiful jeans, hardly winter weather. I can’t keep rotating the same scarves and sweats. Thankfully, Mr. Weatherman says it’s sunny all next week. Hello, bipolar California.

What if? What if, what if. Is it regret, or disappointment, or just a wish that the past could have played out differently? Is it just curiosity? What if? You never realize how much each move, each little decision could have such a profound effect. On you, on someone else, on anyone or everyone. The face you sport as you’re walking across campus. The first store you decide to visit at the mall. The meal you’re about to have for dinner. Small things, but all potentially life-changing. We’re wowed by “coincidental” events like bumping into someone you know while on vacation, but if you want to really think about it, think of all the times nothing coincidental happened. Where our moves, our actions didn’t result in anything interesting or out of the norm. Then it’s only a matter of time something big happens once in a while…or you’re just really lucky (or unlucky, depending). Everything matters. We matter. We are matter, for that matter. Fuck.