Then who the hell was I

Then who the hell was I

This is going to sound completely ridiculous and I swear I'm not clinically depressed or anything of that sort, but what's the point of working so hard for the future and for my career and for the life I eventually want to have if I could die at any minute?  There is a fly in my room.  It's teeeeeeeeny tiny and it's flying around in front of my computer screen, which I love to death, really, but it is really reflective so sometimes I can see myself, which is kind of off-putting, and also it shows any and all dirt - including this stupid fly, which just flew way too close to my face.

Don't you think that the phrase "like looking for a needle in a haystack" could be easily replaced with "like finding a dropped contact on a carpet"?  Because that's what I just did.  Today I had lunch with M and L and J because M is leaving for Europe on Monday and by the time he gets back, I'll be packing to leave for Portland.  It's so weird to think about not going back to high school, about how we're adults now.  M said something today about how he wishes he was 30, because then he'd get to skip all the school and stuff and go right into having a job and a wife and kids.  But honestly, I don't want that.  Okay, so I guess the point of all the hard work is the experiences that you have along the way and the people you meet and the things you learn.

Where do flies go when they can't get back out side?  Is this tiny little fly just going to drop dead during the night somewhere in my room, where it'll be until it gets vacuumed up next week?  I wonder how many dead flies are already in here.  How creepy.