One of the problems I've always had with literature is the conclusion. People's lives don't conclude. They end, but they don't conclude. Even when we know the end is coming, I don't think that we've ever fought off all of our demons, ended up victorious in our battles, and gotten right with everyone we've wronged. I also don't think that we have eras in our lives where we are completely changed. I was the same person on my first day of college as my last day at home. I had the same insecurities, the same dreams, and the same ideas about the way that the world and people and I was put together. However, when we read stories that don't tie up all of the loose ends, we get angry, because we desire conclusion and finality.

I write this because I really want to write something, but I don't know how. Maybe I haven't read enough to be comfortable to writing something, and maybe I haven't lived enough. I think that one of the reasons that I have trouble with something concluding is because I've never had a really significant person in my life die. I think I loved the two grandparents I've lost, but neither of them were a part of my day-to-day life and I didn't have an intimate relationship with either.

Maybe I'll try and write something after I finish the two books I'm reading right now (Watchmen and Cider House Rules), but I'll probably just write three sentences while drinking fair trade coffee about some girl who got dumped and blog about how I can't write anything.

Whatever. Regan, a friend who's an english major told me the other day, "I don't believe in writers. They're not real." I like existing, so maybe I shouldn't write anything.