Well, I''m in the mood to write, as is usual at this time of night, though I'm not in my room, which is not cool, because it's down in the basement, kind of my own little sanctuary, and it's totally quiet and peaceful down there, and I can think and nothing can disturb me. Up here, well, you have people going to the bathroom, getting food, the dog on the prowl, the fighting things going, random talking in the background....But w\e, I need to blog again. Probably going to write another short story, probably dedicated to someone who will know it when they read it. So, yeah, I've pretty much been really happy lately. So many people are so encouraging, and it makes me very happy to know that even my flaws are accepted. But tonight, I'm in a mixed mood, for reasons that I won't go into.

BTW, my MSN name("Not tired.') is now a lie, because I am tired. Tired = creative. For those of you who missed the sequence, it went something like this.

Really tired, so I'm sleeping.

Still tired, but not sleeping.

Not tired.

Nothing spectacularly interesting, or witty, but nevertheless, it's good that have background information.

Ingormation is a funny word. Mostly because I made it up. It means:

Knowledge about fine foods.

That was rather random. I'm in a seriously random mood tonight. It's amusing me.

My dog is snoring from the hallway. Rather unpleasant.

AAAnnnnwwaaayyssss...

This post has stretched on far enough, so I'll just end it with a story. Prepare to be saddened.

It was a warm summer day, and the city was bustling with commerce and trade. People going, people going, sales, purchases, a normal day in the life of a normal city. A merchant outside of city hall was shouting out advertisements for his "tangy lemonade," while beyond that a hot dog vendor served out a bun filled with a juicy sausage. The birds were singing happily, flitting about and around a nearby hospital, landing on the many window ledges, and trilling out their joyful songs. One bird landed just outside a hospital ward, disregarding the collection of people inside. Their appearances were rather contrary to the beautiful day outside. A teenage girl was holding her brother's hand tightly, and both of them we're looking at the plain white bed, containing a woman that they held dear. Her face was a deathly grey colour, her eyes looking dreamily up at the ceiling, her mouth mumbling incoherent words. The soft beeping of the hospital equipment seemed to be beeping out the remaining moments of the woman's life. Every beep meant that there was one less before the end. The girl buried her face in her brother's chest, the shuddering body drawing comfort from the closeness of one that she loved. The boy, no older than sixteen, was holding her tightly, now, both sensing that the end was drawing closer and closer. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep..........Beeeeeeeeep. The girl let out an involuntary sob, and turned to look at the one which had held so much love, and saw only death. The room was totally quiet as the presiding doctor looked at his watch, and called it. Everything that could be tried had already been tried. It was over. The room slowly began to empty of people. Gentle voices floated through the haze of tears, comforting words that could never help, sympathy that would never ring true. The pain of the loss was like ice and fire, stabbed through the center of the heart. Was it possible for life to go on, was it possible for time to go on? She didn't care, and neither did he. They just stood there, each drawing support from the other's arms. The room was totally empty now, totally silent, except for that bird outside the window sill, singing out it's song of joy for all who cared to listen. There would be no joy inside that room.

Death is not a statistic.