Today I was told about an old lady who died. They'd been a bunch of old folks together eating and talking about travelling, when they had looked at her and noticed she looked kinda different. She had sord of an empty glare about her. She had eaten her supper and desert, and then just fliped the off-switch. 82 years old. Sheer bliss.

Start composing. Start decomposing. I don't like it, how the mind can turn on you. I don't care for it at all. Old memories haunt. It makes it so hard to maintain selfrespect, when the mind keeps reminding you of all your flaws and mishaps. But then I remind myself that memory is good thing. And without remembering the mishaps, they would keep reccuring. But what's really better? Remembering your mishaps and never doing them again, or keep failing while being a happy ignorant?