The endless sheets which should be enveloping my consciousness lie around me as I sit at my contained chaotic temporary trivial universe sipping at my earl grey and honey. This slow haze is nothing particularly unusual except for the fact that it has come quite early in the year. True, apathy is something that has plagued me for near two years, however this newly found intense feeling for something more meaningful than the nonsense that has brought the beings formerly considered my aquaintances down the overall age of three and one half. Talk of this veneer of knowledge seems endlessly tedious, as I am constantly reminded by some divine way of the assignments I have, am, or have yet to complete. January is a cold month. The young man at my doorstep yesterday spoke of snow in Ventura. His demeanor sweet, but eyes reddened of herbal tendencies. Substance consumes as they are consumable. The red that is to appear during the hour of eleven tomorrow morning brings me back to the unavoidable unwant for people who lack considerate demeanors. Simply one hundred and fifty days are left of this treatment plan that is named Senior High School. And as much as she would like to remain not only anonymous and in the mindset of which what has been writen is of meaningful and necessary merrit, she falsly believes she is much too mature to believe that trickery can bring her to be any more than typical.