"If my coming were up to me, I’d never be born
And if my going were on my accord, I’d go with scorn
Isn’t it better that in this world, so old and worn
Never to be born, neither stay, nor be away torn?"
"The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."
By Omar Khayyam
I am at work. It is very quiet. Many people are already gone and there are not that many students around. I am pretty sure that those who are, don’t want to be here at this time of the year.
I am listening to radio Javan, chewing on my candy cane (I don't like candy cane), and trying not to think about the argument I had with my mom yesterday over the phone. What an awful day was yesterday. So many disappointments. The longer I live, the more I learn that there is nothing to the end of this life.