I had no inspirations upon starting this post. 

There are clouds rolling past my window in the light of dusk. 

I am currently having some vague internal debate over...my entire life. Although it is all very vague and messy, like my thoughts are a big pile of vague spaghetti.

I ate mangoes for dinner. Although now I wish I had had spaghetti. 

Something awful happened to somebody that I don't know very well and I briefly felt anxious, but I closed my eyes and I took a deep breath and now I mostly just feel all the empathy in my body trying to find a way out.

One day I am going to be old. One day I might be so old that I won't remember anything I've done or anyone I've met. And I would just like to have it written somewhere that I existed and I loved people and I did my best to be good and I felt like spaghetti sometimes. Even if Mark is the only person who  reads this, this is my silly life and I am doing what I can with it. And one day I will look back on this journal and I'll remember who I was trying to become.