*2001-09-20 - 9:10 p.m.*

While on the potty, I had a revalation: In order to understand life, even a little bit, you have to have raised goldfish.

Now before you close this window and chalk the entry up to Steph Weirdness, let me just explain my reasoning.

You can go into any fish store and buy 5 goldfish for 3 bucks. You can get them a bowl, some gravel, food, maybe even a plant and a filter. You can get the pH tester kit to make sure the pH of the water is perfect. Or you could just leave them up to their own means and forget about them. No matter how you treat those fish, you can be sure that in that group of 5: 1 will die in 48 hours, 2 will die simultaneously, and 1 will live for 6 years. No matter what.

Why does this happen? I don't know. It just does. As soon as you can accept that, you can accept a bunch of life's little shits.

The reason I was thinking about this? I was thinking of this kid in my Chem Seminar who thought that taking care of goldfish was too much responsibility. I could never go for a guy who thought that. I mean, he didn't want the responsibily of taking care of *a* goldfish. Singular. Not even 5. What's up with that? That's nothing. Responsibility-wise...but that's where the whole goldfish train of thought came from.

Ok, I think I'm done now.