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How many people wonder about holes in the ceiling and cracks on the floor? When did they happen? What caused them? Or what about when you see a cigarette in someone’s hand and ask yourself how do they feel about smoking even though they know it’s dangerous. And even if people do think about these things, why? For what purpose? I guess I do it out of boredom. But is boredom really an excuse? I mean, really, how bored can a person get? I don’t believe it is boredom after all, probably curiosity, which can build to all sorts of lengths, and I believe it most certainly starts there. How else can you explain why I want to know what happened to a certain somebody when a certain somebody else, punches them in the eye? I am almost positive it isn’t boredom, but curiosity and that is where and how I try to make sense of this story. It begins on a nice hot October morning, with birds singing and flowers in full bloom, ok, not really. I live in Washington for crying out loud. But how awesome would it be if it worked out that way. It really would put something beautiful into this mesh of words. Actually it really didn’t have a starting place, but starting people. A group of friends. All the people in this group and all the people that surrounded this group were a part of my life and some still are. I don’t really understand why, but at first I really did enjoy hanging out with these people. I guess maybe because they were ‘cool’, but I mean we never really did anything cool. So basically we sat around pretending to be cool, because we were considered cool. Or maybe it was just the others that were considered cool. I really don’t know, but pretending to be cool was just not all that cool to me. I don’t understand how people can hang out w.

. .re. Sadly, the infection, the disease had taken over me too. I had officially become part of the crew, in fact that one conversation, everything I hated about myself and anything else bestowed upon me had been poured out, through words on my phone. The girl I told this to was very upset and lost a friend. I went from the loved to the hated in a matter of a fifteen-minute conversation. And quite frankly I was so upset that I really didn’t care to speak to any of them again. I decided not to do anything mean (wow, I really had become a bad person if I had to decide not to be mean). So maybe my story was pointless and you don’t understand why I think curiosity is the cause of all things and why it kills all, but it killed my friendships, it killed my personality, it killed my life. But then she changed, a little, and we became friends again. Or at least I hope. ?

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