The day is spiraling downwards I think. School was ok. The bus ride home sucked. The bus seems like it's about the fucking fall apart, and with any luck it will before tomorrow. I've just been in a mood this afternoon, starting with getting on the bus. Now I'm home and I'm just bored and irritable. My brother's a fucking brat. I think my usual "I hate Amsterdam" spring mood has started. Tomorrow will be a pointless half day ending in a pointless and interminable stay at Nana's. What a waste. I'd rather just go to school all day and come home. Another week without a good day. If I had a car right now I would just fucking drive and not stop. Maybe I should write something. This mood is excatly what I was trying to capture towards the middle of Colors on The Street (second Novel). The high point of the day was a walk down towards the pond. It snowed really heavily and it was really beautiful, in a cold sort of way. So I'll leave you with a sutiable poem: Prospice by Robert Browning Fear death? -- to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so -- one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!