Behind me, the annoying noise of a guitar circle fills the classroom with noise. I normally wouldn't mind all that much, but they're purposely singing as loud as they can... and not very well either. My right ear is starting to ache. I'm the only one doing any work. There are two groups of people doing nothing, and then me. I imagine that I don't need to tell you who's singing the same song over and over again, and who's sitting in a small group talking about nothing in particular. I'm lucky my thoughts are strong enough to be heard over this crap. Sometimes I wonder if I'm too old for this. Funny, I wouldn't consider myself old, but sometimes I feel like I'm thirty something. Although, on the other hand, I occasionally feel like I'm eight years old.

When I'm tired and worn out from an eventful day, I feel old. I feel worn down. On that test we took at the start of the year I was so introverted that I was off the page. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with people and going to parties, but it tires me out. After an eventful day I just need time alone... or sleep. Either one suffices, because I usually have a nice long thinking session before falling asleep... unless I'm too drunk to think.

I don't regularly feel eight years old though. The last time it happened was when I was walking to school with all the philosophical books I had bought. I compared myself to a kid who had found some seashells on the beach and was running over to show mommy. Sure Heidegger and Sartre require a higher level of thinking than collecting seashells, but I think that the premise is still the same. I could have just kept the books in a pile in my room (like I do my Shakespeare), but for some reason I chose not to.

Truth is, I feel bad about not really liking all of those books very much. I started reading the one on Heidegger        , then realized that it was all essays on Heidegger. A couple things in the prologue interested me, so I'll definitely get around to reading it, but I'd rather read his work than works on his work. The Wall was good. Psychoanalysis was a common theme in the stories. It was full of messed up, crazy characters, and dealt with some disturbing topics. Only two of the stories I really like, the first one and the last one. The first one was about a guy in the Spanish civil war (I'm guessing) about to be executed. The last one was about a troubled little kid finding himself. It wasn't all that short of a short story, but I really liked it.

I always have trouble ending my posts on a good note. Oh well, too bad for you. I'm going to go read some more of "Much ado About Nothing"