I've started to work on my commonplace book for AP, and it reminds me of Leaves of Grass. The main similiarity being that both are a collection of poems, and the other being that they are both very personal and emotional. I mean, a lot of the things (especially one thing in particular [a conversation I had with Kelsey about what my hopes and fears were/are]) are very personal. I think the conversation in particular, was one of the most honest and personal things I have ever written in my entire life. By the end of it, I was crying. It has a lot of happy memories in it that I was lucky enough to experience. So, I don't know really. I just am really proud of this entry of mine. I think I would be comfortable in submitting just that piece of paper to him. The contents of the conversation however, is another matter. Another matter that is undisclosed- I'm sorry. On another note, I was talking to my mom recently about how I was like when I was younger. She was telling me about how much I loved school and how I would usually come home exclaiming what a good day I had. It came apparent to me then, to ask my mom what had made me happy during the course of those days when I would come home from school feeling good. She said that I would come home happy because the cafeteria made my favorite meal (which was a variety of things), or that the teacher called on me in class and I answered the question correctly. Another factor would be if I had fun with my friends, playing in the jungle gym or running around on the field. I've been thinking about this a lot. I've been thinking about what used to make me happy, and what makes me happy now. I then have come to the realization that I no longer have any simple pleasures- that in order for me to be happy, it's usually under higher circumstances, that whenever I get into my mom's van and she asks me the daily question of how my day was- I always respond indifferently. It's not because I don't want to talk to her (like she seems to believe), it's because I really do not know. I really wish I could give her an honest answer of "my day was great" or the alternative, with a reason explaining why. But now, I don't know anymore. I usually say that it was "okay" because I don't know any other way to describe it. It seems as if I'm not as happy as I once was. That it's harder for me to be happy than when I was young. I know this is because I'm "becoming a man" or whatever element you may want to describe it as, but I don't like that idea. People should be happy just beacuse, myself included. I've been trying to change this lately- I realized that life can only get more difficult, and that I should accomodate this difficulty with optimism. That I have optimism for today and tomorrow, that the next day will be better than the last. In a life like this, this is all one has. That maybe, getting my hair in a showable fashion, or wearing my favorite pair of jeans, or doing all of my homework, or getting a full night's sleep, or listening to one of my favorite songs should make me happy. I'm beginning to realize that the mini-movie we watched in Geib's is becoming truer and truer with each day. But it seems like every time I try and be optimistc, I start thinking about things that have the potential of becoming true and making me spiral downward into depression. I'm going to stop this entry any further, because it's starting to go into a direction in which would make sense to one if they had any background knowledge of what I have been feeling like recently- which is only a few people. Edit: Another thing- I have found out how extremely jealous I've been lately. I'm not vengeful by any means- I'm just full of jealousy. I mean, I really abhor it. I think my tendency to be jealous mixed with my overanalyzation is a very bad combination. But I can't help it right now, especially the way how I feel about, well.. nevermind. It just makes sense to me now why people get jealous with that other emotion involved. That other emotion being the quintessential element to any book, movie or song. Yes, that one. I don't know, but I really loathe it. I can't describe my frustration and confusion with myself, her, that, it, and with this in real words, so I'm going to stop.