I haven't written here in a while. I have been busy on my journal and writing random rants on loose sheets of paper.

It seems to me that the words of my ninth grade english teacher and the Greeks could never be truer. Moderation in everything is the key. When you tip the balance, when you decide, or are unwittingly forced into a situation when you simply have too much, life begins to shift, taking away bit by bit until you are forced into medium.

This isn't about me. So I won't say anymore.

It was partially because of that that I drew a picture last night. I had wanted to draw one thing, a collective symbol for the past four years. I came up with a tree. That old, nostalgic tree. I remember drawing it, many years ago. I also wondered if I should draw in leaves, or sketch a likeness of all who had a part in planting that tree. But then I realized: the tree is dead. I am probably the only one who still clings to it.

I was always the last one. The last one to still want to play hide and go seek at parties. The last one to play on the playground. The last one to give up on a story idea. The last one to let go. I think it's because I am so firmly rooted in the past. I am a packrat. So I remember.

I wish my friends shared this perspective, but I'm mostly glad they live him the present, looking forward. Still, the past is what we were. So this is for them.