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All I do is complain, right? But I guess I can't really complain anywhere else but here... It's too awkward. I can never really /talk/ to people, when I think about it. I feel like I'm whining, and I remember that my friends have problems too. And I can never find anyone who'll be quiet long enough for me to even /say/ anything, because I'm the type of person who'll be silent for about a minute[maybe less] while I'm trying to empty myself, and normally within that time the person[assuming there /is/ a person] tries to clear up awkwardness and bring up conversation. But at the same time, while being quiet enough, they have to look like they kind of care. I can't talk to certain people about certain things, because certain things aren't to be brought up to certain people because they're touchy subjects and they can't be quiet, they don't care, and I have a problem with trusting people.
And I just totally ranted about... well, nothing. I feel like writing a long journal entry to get all my problems out, but I don't know if I have time.

Well, let's start somewhere. My aunt is dying. Like, really, really dying. She's sick. She's got AIDS. I feel kind of weird being sad about it, because I've only met her once in person, and once over the phone. In person was years and years ago, and on the phone over the Christmas break that just passed, and only for a minute because we were in the car on a cell phone. But she's still my family, and when I think about how much my dad is hurting right now, it makes me hurt. A lot. I hate it that my dad has to go through so much pain: it's not his fault! He's done absolutely nothing but be a great guy, a great father, and a great husband! He's such a wonderful person, and he doesn't deserve any of this, not life's stress, not any of my stress, not any /deaths/... Nothing. He is too great a person. Because psychological pain isn't all he's going through. The doctor's don't even know what's wrong with his stomach, but it's always killing him. He's always in pain, laying upstairs in his bed. He feels guilty about it because now there's no time for him to spend with his family because he's in pain, and he's depressed about it, and he doesn't deserve any guild or shame or pain!

... Ugh. Now I'm exhausted. I don't feel like typing anymore. I don't want to think about this. My problems are not the world's problems. If I wanted them to be, I'd have a lot more to type.
Fin.