Every Day is a Bank Account

and time is our currency. Nobody's rich, nobody's poor; we get 24 hours each.

Three Things I Have Recently Pondered:
1.) My mom should be thought of as a friend -not a back-up plan
2.) I have a pride problem
3.)The world goes on -even without me being present

Want a lil more explanation?

One -Mom-
I guess I always thought of my mom as someone who I could yell at and she just wouldn't take it to heart and that she wouldn't be hurt like a "normal" person if I yelled at her or was rude. I never realized she was an actual person who had problems/drama/friends/concerns/stresses. Now, I knew she had probs and friends and a life, I just never really understood it.
I never understood until my mom started telling me that how when Mary threatens to chop her up with a knife, or run over her in car, that it actually does scare her. Or how she hates that my dad isn't very affectionate, never spends time with her, and is not very emotionally "alive". I was totally oblivious to all her feelings and stresses before she told of them.

Two -Pride-
Pride always gets the best of me. It makes me think that I'm above everyone else and that I need to help them. It makes me think that they need so much help, that they obviously can't have time or energy to help me. I get jealous when I hear someone else sing because of pride. And I'm always thinking that I have to be better. Pride is a competition. I can't take pride in something unless it's better than everyone else's. How can you have pride about something if it's the same as all the other stuff?
When I have a family problem, or atleast, a deep thought, I feel stupid telling it to someone else. Why? -Because of my pride. I'm afraid that they'll think I'm stupid. Or when I don't like to sing: because I'm afriad they'll say it's bad, and thereby crushing my pride.
But having what shackles me (pride) crushed is not a bad thing. It's classic human nature: I'm afraid to let go, even if it's bad, because I don't know exactly what will happen when I do. I may be humiliated, I may be made fun of, or gossiped about. But I need to take that risk, because I know it will be well worth it. God makes giving up sin VERY worth it. It's just hard to remember when sin is such a part of my being, of my nature.

Three -World-
It hit me the other day, that when I missed school, no one notices. No one cares, or even notes that I'm missing, except the teacher for roll-call. They don't change their schedule or worry about me, they just go on with their life. I'm not important. The world doesn't care about me. The world doesn't revolve around me.
I think that's something a lot of teenagers haven't realized yet. Especially when they commit suicide thinking "maybe they'll pay attention to me now...". The truth is, no one except your immediate family is REALLY affected by you.
How often do you care when you hear on the news "a young, teenage girl in Kansas was raped and murdered last night. The authorities found her body in an abandoned cement factory...". -How often do we really care?
Well, if you don't care about that random girl, why should millions of others care just because it happened to you and not her?
When I die, it will not effect many people; nor will many people care about an 80 year-old lady who died of heart failure. And my feeble, pathetic [mortal] mind screams, "don't forget me! I want someone to care! I want to leave something behind so I'll be remembered!". But what do I really want to be remembered for?
After my grandchildren die, my name will [most likely] never be spoken again; no one will ever know who I was, or that I even existed, unless they happen to see my name while looking for someone famous in an odd file in Washington DC. The only way I will ever be thought of is as part of a generation; like the random young girls in frilly dresses I think of when the 1700's enter my mind.
No one will ever know me, no one (includig myself) will ever know the extremely interesting guy in my school who has an odd name like Jim Jingle. It's sad to think that we all won't be remembered, because we all have a story to tell and no one's is exactly the same. In the end, there isn't enough time or compassion for people to remember others.