I walk amongst the college halls, thinking of of relaxing at home. I have a nice chat with a few acquaintances. I attempt to make plans to spend my weekend, in a vain attempt to escape the painful feelings of loneliness and boredom. I do focus on my course work and other things to work towards a dream, the classic, cliche pattern. What more is it than a distraction or pattern? Where is the meaning behind it all? I used to think that debating trivial topics concerning life and all its aspects and their triviality, their lack lack of meaning, gave life some sort of point, ironically. But now, I think it's just another... another part of the same f***ing routine. After all, no one is listening to that voice inside my head, it's just me, myself and I in the end. But, even the I won't remember half of the things that I've told myself. You could say that were all just characters in a seemingly ending story that we call life, but I think we're more like bowling balls, mindlessly rolling down the same lane, some knocking over more pins than others, but nevertheless, pins thay are endlessly replaced.