Growing Old Is Rotting.

This may be a terrible post because I am forcing it or, maybe I feel obligated to do it. But I have this idea in the back of my head that has been rotting for years. And the idea that it is rotting has been rotting. I think everything on this small earth reaches a certain point at which it is at its best, but then begins rotting. I think everything is rotting. Growing old is rotting.

My grandma Simmons passed away this afternoon not long before six pm. My uncle Kelly came out and looked straight at my cousins and me and said "your grandmother is gone." The silence long stretched for several minutes until my mom came rushing out of my grandma's room crying. Short after the news got out several relatives and friends came flooding to my grandmother's house to support our family.

I have recently learned a  Shakespeare scene from the play "Measure for Measure" in which my character Claudio is in a jail cell talking to his sister Isabella whom he is begging to save his life. The scene goes on and ends up on the subject of death. My biggest line that I have in the entire scene is a big long description of death. And I think that Shakespeare had an ability to write somethings that no other human could have. He describes the feelings and fears of death so well that it almost scares me just to say my line. I tried to copy my line so you could read it here, but friggin the blog thing was being dang gay. So here is the link. It should be the first one. It starts "Ay, but to die, and go we not know where." Click hurr 4 a little spew about lyfe

So driver's education is probably the most retarded thing I have heard of in my entire life. A whole month of class at 5:45? Who the freak need to know that much garbage? And who even applies it to their driving? AND they are charging one hundred dollars for it? Freakin' kiss my butt! Soooooo gay. I don't want to devote my life to some class that I won't learn anything from. Everything sucks soooo badly. I can't even take it. I'm going to explode. All I want to do is lay out in the night on a warm blanket with a pretty girl that will listen to my rants. I want to look at the stars with someone who appreciates them as much as I. But I don't suppose that will ever happen.

I can't handle life anymore. I know I probably sound like some mentally retarded teenager just ranting (and feel free to judge, because I don't care anymore) but I really do mean everything I say. My mind, to me, feels like it is in the same condition as a smoker's lungs.

I am seeing this band in November. They saved my life once. Yay.