Let's complain about summer vacation again, shall we? There's the sweltering heat. There's the lack of things to do. There's the inevitable tendency for life to sink into another set of mundane routines. Yes, I'd probably go on about how much we hate it when we have lots to do, and similarly hate it when we have nothing to do. I'd probably go on about life's most mysterious facets, probably influenced by idle time, which I have always complained about.

Then again, I could just talk to someone. Oh, but there goes the blog entry - with a simple concession, there's nothing to talk about, and nothing to think about, if only as an attempt to fall asleep despite having too much of it already. Earlier, I was chatting with Dexter - another one of those attempts, this time assisted, to figure out another one of the things I've written - and when he finally begged off for the day, he attempted to keep the conversation alive. Blame my sleepiness, or my lack of interest in Americal Idol (partly because a certain David Archuleta is still there), but I didn't let it grow any further.

Think about it. For the longest time we have been compelled to have something to talk about. No, I'm not complaining about it, but have you ever heard someone really, as in really, enjoy blabber about nothing and everything in between? Girls look for boys with substance. Boys look for smart girls - maybe that, and a nice pair of breasts to fondle when it happens. Some are forced to read up whenever something big is coming, maybe as an effort to pass off as someone informed, but maybe not too intellectual - a downfall of mine - and maybe impress someone. But random chatter never really gets nowhere. People look for coherence, and then some.

You're supposed to stand out with that. Besides, as that cliché goes, birds of the same feather flock together. Whether you have the same crush, or the same sense of humor, or the same sort-of-fan-worship ability, or anything, probably, what binds you together are the same kind of talk. Who else would you rather be, anyway? It's weird if you include someone who doesn't share your ideas, and it's weirder if you're the one who can't relate, or are prevented to relate. Suddenly, talk defines who's who and who's not - and ironically so, because that's what's supposed to open you up to the world.

No wonder talk isn't as cheap as it used to be. It may seem effortless, but it will give you so much more if you use it wisely. It will give you impressions, ideas, a group you can call your own - and then there's enemies, death threats and blank space. Lots of it, when nobody prefers to listen to you.

The idea of a world where constant conversation prevents people from going at war is obviously a crazy utopian idea. What more can divide it that a few words that were said, or not said? And who else will know how it feels? In a world where conversation makes groups and groups decide on who's who and who's not, the plight of the ones left alone are nothing more than whispers underwater. Not that I'm saying I'm part of it, but think about it, still. You're definitely leaving somebody behind, and you'll never know what they're up to until it finally happens. The good thing is, you have something to talk about, provided you're still alive.