I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in and stops my mind from wandering, where it will go.

I think I just might be. Fixing a hole, that is.

Things are beginning to fall into place the longer I exist here at Longwood. Unfortunately, it's taken the entire semester for me to figure anything out, but I guess it should be enough for me to have done it eventually.

Make sense? Doubtful.

I have some apologies I should probably take care of as soon as possible. Most of those apologies I'll never get the courage to tell, and some of them are probably best left untold. It's enough of an apology for me to feel as guilty as I do.

Nobody's perfect, but I usually think I should be, can be, will be someday if I try hard enough. Maybe that's why my self-esteem is so low. Maybe that's why I should just do my best and have that be enough, so that I can look forward to death and finally achieving perfection.

I'm just working towards death, I guess. That's really all it is. Perfection = death? I guess that's the conclusion I've come to. I guess that's why it's okay for me to end sentences with prepositions (which, by the way, I have done at least twice in this post already). When I'm dead, I won't end sentences with prepositions.

J is back from Wal-Mart. I think I'll give him his computer back now.

END.