I live so close to my cam­pus and to my work that I can go home between classes and work. Every time I step out­side, my mood changes. In the morn­ing, I’m reminded of the gray skies above the emer­ald green UCC foot­ball fields I would look up to as I waited for a ride, or hung out with John. Usually I try to put on my Bittersweet Mix, and some­times it fits. Other times, I’ll put on my Sad Mix, and it fits as well.

In the after­noon, the sun comes out, and spreads its’ rays across the street, remind­ing me of a time I sat in a library, the sky-light giv­ing me the suns rays through dust and the smell of old print. The Total Annihilation sound­track fits so per­fectly, with its’ some­times agres­sive, some­times calm movements.

At night, every­thing feels famil­iar, and I put on my Moon Mix or my Breathe playlist. I feel noth­ing but famil­iar. I’ve already expe­ri­enced every­thing I could at night.

I can see that my over­all out­look is chang­ing. Before, I would scorn the sun­light, and cast my eyes down­ward, wish­ing for a cloudy sky. Now, I know what hap­pi­ness feels like. I had finally expe­ri­enced it, and destroyed it sim­ply by being me. I’m not sure if I actu­ally want to feel it again. It’s some­thing that’s just too much trouble.

My friend asked me once if I had any advice about dat­ing. She believed that every­one just wants to be happy, no mat­ter what trou­ble, a Freudian, I’m sure.

I told her not to fall in love.