This is a string of random things that have come to mind.

The bamboo outside my apartment is growing by about a foot a day. No lie. I marked one piece with my pen today when I came to work, so I'm curious to see how much it's grown since then.

Yesterday was my little sister's 9th anniversary with her husband.

Tomorrow is my parent's 39th anniversary.

Today is the 11th anniversary of my friend Dave's death.

All three of those effect me in different ways. I'm amazed my little sister's been married for that long -- but it makes me feel old and seriously behind the curve. I'm happy that my parents are so cool and love each other and are still together. I'm...sad about Dave and disappointed in myself for not making more of the time that I've had that he hasn't. He died about a month after his 23rd birthday and I remember thinking, when I turned 23 a couple of months later, that every day I had from that point forward was a day longer than Dave had. I promised I'd take better advantage of that time, but I don't really feel like I have.

Eh, the anniversary of his death always gets to me. I miss him. He was as close to a brother as I ever had when I was a kid. He moved in, I think, when we were eight, and died 15 years later. When we first met we didn't really like each other much, but we quickly got over that and became very good friends. He's the one who introduced me to D&D when we were about 12 and we played almost every day after school. Just the two of us. You get to know someone really well when you socialize with them every day for four to six hours.

I was there while his parents went throught their divorce. I was there when his dog, Gypsy was hit by a car and died in his arms. I was the first person he told about his first kiss. I was the first person he told about the first time he had sex. I was there when his mom remarried a man that Dave really didn't like all that well (since Bob wasn't his dad. Bob was a good guy, though.) I was there when Dave got into the guitar and we'd sit for hours while he tried to perfect this or that song. I heard all about his drunken nights out. I watched him get stoned every now and again. I never drank or smoked and he didn't care. He told how the students at the Catholic high school sold drugs to each other. I heard about the girls he had crushes on. I heard about everything.

His mom was like my second mom. But I still can't talk to her for some reason. I just can't do it.

He's one of the big reasons why I'm the person I am and why I do what I do.

And I miss him.

Eleven years. Wow.

I just don't have anything else to say.