6:34 pm - January 16, 2007
Chacun a son gout
She's in limbo. Not alive, certainly, as life is measured by change, and other than the people that fade in and out of her life, everything is the same for her. Her life is exactly the same as it was two years ago. The classes at the university haven't been taken; a nice part-time job hasn't been applied for. There has been no travel, really, she hasn't touched anything to make a difference. She's pretty sure she's not dead though, she thinks, anyway, because isn't that something you'd remember? Dying?
Death is something she thinks about regularly, though. It was a little sad, the day she concluded that suicide just wasn't a viable option for her. Too many responsibilities, after all, with Grandma and her little dog to look after. And, of course, there's the car, it's not paid for, she couldn't just leave someone else to pay for it. That would be selfish. And her parents, it would drive her crazy father around the bend entirely, and then where would that leave her mother? So no suicide.
Sitting and thinking, sometimes very deeply about nothing, she laughs at how some religions might call her advanced. Her ability to Nothing is quite impressive, she likes to think.
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