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How come is it I feel strange deleting someone's meaningless emails after they've died? Like maybe they reside in those emails a little and if I move them to my trash box that will be moving them to the trash. Once you die the things about you become finite and when they are destroyed they are no longer boundless. He was a faceless administrator in my inbox. I've heard he was very sweet. He was tireless. He made this school a better place.

My writing class gives me a book and it says in the book that there are not infinite resources on the earth to consume. So why do we treat it that way while each new idea is regulated and controlled as though ideas will run out but trees won't, and you use up your thoughts if you aren't careful, but the fuel for our cars will last forever. I never thought about how competitive I am, but here I am pushing others to push themselves. My friend tells me that to love is to challenge and to be love is to have your spirit challenged. I like this, as I think and write about seedlings and try to gather my thoughts. I have never been afraid of dying alone, but I know I can't die boring. I am full and overfull with ideas and I want them to live and grow and dissipate just like everything else.