All my friends are talking about how fast the time seems to fly, but I can't seem to give a fuck. I'm not sure what that means, but I hope that it's progress. i hope that it means that I've escaped the doldrums. I hope that it means that I'm flowing with time. Goddamn, I hope that it means something.
I don't think that life has meaning intrinsically, I think we make the meaning. We find what makes us happy and we make more of it. Mind you, we make it in moderation. Meaning becomes trampled when you search for it. It needs time to grow. It's like the grass in the park. By all means, we deserve to frolic and wiggle our toes and soak up the sun and feel the gentle caresses of each blade of grass, but after a while, we step back and let the grass grow unencumbered, so that someone else may revel in it's embrace.