FEBRUARY 6, 2009.

At the moment I'm on flight 1351 en route to Dallas/Fort Worth, staring into the sun towards river-cut mountains. I'm reading Fitzgerald and listening to Lou Reed. You can call me pretentious but I prefer precocious. I feel tired and half-sick but otherwise happy. There's something about airplane trips that makes me excited for life. When I listen to music I look out the window and pretend I'm in the movies. But mostly I like walking in the airport and watching people. Not in a creepy way, but in an intrigued way, I suppose. I like to wonder where people are going and why. When I see people waiting in the concourse I wonder what they're going to do once they get to their destination. I hope it's for good, happy things and that they'll have fun. It's childish and naive but I love it.

The clouds look flat from this angle. The mountains look like swirly designs on brown paper. I'm not much of a poet but it's beautiful.

I can't believe it's February. February 6, 2009. 1:51PM. Mostly I'm just glad I'm not in gym, watching the minutes tick by and waiting for the bell to ring. The truth is I'm not sure. I'm not particularly sure of anything but the concretes. I know I want perfect grades. I know I want to be successful in synchro I know I want to go to Columbia in 3 1/2 years and I know I want friends. But other than those things, I don't know what I want. I don't know who I am. I can't decide. If you asked me to define myself in 3 words, I couldn't do it. I only know the negatives: loud, obnoxious, and pushy. I hate most of my personality traits but I can't bring myself to change them. I like having philosophical conversations with Hayden and other friends but at the same time I hate them because they make me feel stupid. I don't have anything else to write so I'll just say that "Black Dog" is an incredibly sexy song.

MGMT is trippy at 35,000 feet.