Pancakes and Posts

Here are two posts I'd started to write and then stopped. Note the emo eminating off. Oh and each one posted with the same picture:

1: Is there a point in one's life where things just sort of work themselves out? Or is life still just a series of events that our brain connects based on how important they seem to you? Is there any point to worrying about tomorrow? Especially when it prevents you from living for today? What a melancholy train of thoughts.
I'm looking for a new job. I've got just a few weeks left with this one and need to get on the job search. I've also started looking into a script I'm developing. I don't know what that's going to be like but it's starting off well.

2. There's a lot to be said about the moments during a rainstorm. Its the time where I can compare the chapters of my life and smile just a little more. Rain is soothing. Use the lightning to channel your breathing. It rained inside some days. Just like it rains inside your soul some days.
Writer's Note:
You will read this and think, "Is this directed at me?" To which, I can only respond, "Parts of it were". The truth is, F. Scott wrote to Zelda and Gerdie wrote to Alice. Hemmingway wrote to a couple of ladies (although I wouldn't call that writing) and Jane Austen wrote to someone she never met. So there are some days when yes, I am writing to you. Some days, I'm writing about someone else. And sometimes, I'm writing just to make sense to myself. What flows through my fingertips is a mixture of reality, fantasy, love and loathing. I cannot take credit for everything. In fact, I believe I will take the Mark Twain approach to most of my musings. Those attempting to find truth shall be shot. Or something like that.