December 7, 2004 Dear Self, I have just recently finished reading "Welcome To My Planet - Where English Is Sometimes Spoken" by Shannon Olsen. I almost can't help but notice the similarities in my own life: the main character is trying to get her life in order, but still not completely sure of where she needs to be, and whether being there will make her happy, and trying to figure out the difference between needing something and wanting something, and which one to choose over which. How the main character is a smart-mouthed Cancer and a natural homebody and always has something or other to say about something or other, even though she should sometimes keep her mouth shut about things. How the main character and her mother don't always get along, but have the kind of relationship where they both understand that it's okay for two people not to like each other every now and again, because the only thing that matters is that no matter what their differences, they still love each other. How the main character has a habit of taking an interest in other peoples' problems to forget her own problems, which she puts on the back burner until she feels like she can handle them. How the main character is caring and compassionate about the people she loves, and cares greatly for them, but still has that Cancer narcissism about her. I could go on endlessly about the dead-on interpretation of not only myself, but also everyone like me. How Shannon and I are so similar to each other and live in a slight parallel to each other, despite the fact that we live so far away. After reading that book, it helped me get a better feel for learning how to forget the things that I cannot effect, and concentrate instead on the things that take a direct impact on my life at the moment. It taught me how to not worry about the future while I'm still in the present; how to not get stressed out if I'm single when I'm thirty. Most importantly, though, it taught me to stop dreaming up unrealistic ideals for myself, to accept who I am and my limits. Having limits, after all, is only a part of being human, and despite my distaste for it at times - a human is what I am. I find it even more astounding that at times I have a better understanding of life than the thirty-year-old woman who wrote the book. Through the years, I've noticed that life is like a thin plastic bubble: the more you poke it and prod it and try to get it to go a different way, the quicker it'll pop. Sometimes I think that people are like that, too; like little marionettes with strings too thin to carry their weight, and that when the strings snap, they've been led around so long that they don't know what to do without the puppet master. I admit I've found myself in this position before. It's hard, when your strings have been cut, to learn how to stand up and walk on your own. To wave at the audience without the master telling you to, or to give the audience the finger and walk away if you feel like it. The hardest thing about living, to me, is knowing that there's no one there to erase the mistakes you've made in life - that once you decide something and do it, you can't turn back and say, "Whoops, oh shit, I made a mistake. Someone fix it for me." That you have to make mature, adult decisions on your own, and that the consequences of those decisions are yours to deal with and no one else's. All in all, though, living isn't so bad...you know, these stupid Philadelphia Cream Cheese commercials have you thinking that when you're an angel you get to eat bagels and cream cheese whenever you want to. It's kind of like life, in a way - or learning how to deal with it. Sometimes you just need to go out and buy your own bagels and cream cheese instead of expecting people to do it for you. I'll write more sometime soon - I have to get some food. Thinking about cream cheese made me hungry. Full of idiotic metaphors, -Summer, age 15