Hi ya'all! I really have no idea what this story is, or where it came from, but it's here, so we are all going to have to live with it...can we all do that? That would be a big yes! Anyway, this story is...hmm, I dont know really, I just felt the need to write something Phoebe, even if it really doesnt sound like her, but it is in her head...many people sound different in their heads then they do when interacting...I dont, but that's just me! Anyway, so this is just a short little something, inspired by me reading the word Permanence and thinking 'hmm, what does that mean!' so please read and review and I promise to have another chap of either smoke and mirrors, or fools rush in up by tomorrow...I am having a bit of trouble with the both of them at the mo, not to mention the fact that my internet is being ultra stupid! Which is why I have no line thingy between my authers notes and the actual stories at the mo, because I have to write this is HTML mode, not simple...but I'm rabling! Please read and review and I love you all!

I do not own friends/actors/characters, but I am losing my mind with both the heat and the computer annoyance! But I do love the heat...the computer annoyance...not so much!

Lying on the cold hard floor, my life slipping away from gravity's grasp, I feel my first real sense of stability.

Not that I ever believed in gravity though. The thought of something holding you down is a scary thing, and not something that I had ever given a second thought.

But that really isn't the point.

My life has never been stable; not even when it was almost normal. I had a sister, although she was, to put it nicely, a total bitch. We had drifted apart, never speaking, never knowing, never loving. She had her ways and I had mine, simple as that. Plus the fact that she obviously was one of Satan's minions.

My father…god knows who my father was. The man I thought he was turned out to be a model, destroying the one hope I had ever had of knowing him. The picture in my mind had been broken, and although I had seen real pictures of him, he still remained faceless.

Stepfather…well, prison was his home for the longest time, and even when he had been around, stability had been nonexistent.

And then there was my mother. Sweet, caring Lily. Always loving me, even if she was a bit dazed. Her love had been the only stable thing in my life, and it hadn't been that strong. Why, I'm not sure. It wasn't because her love hadn't been that strong, maybe it was because she had never been secure, and it had rubbed off on me. I didn't know, and before I could have found out, her head had ended up in the oven, and I had ended up on the street; alone, cold, and bitter.

Not as bitter as most on the street though; mine was a different bitter. One that someone held when they had lost everything they had never had, but had always wished for. A perfect family – happy, like something out of a TV show – with gigantic amounts of cash, and even a bike. I was bitter because I had never experienced that, and it hurt.

Fighting to survive was not what I would call fun, although after a time, it was almost a game. Mugging the geeks outside the comic store was almost fun, even if they had looked like their world had come crashing down around them. As if they knew what it felt like to have nothing.

I was never raped, but I was threatened. A pretty blonde girl – I knew I was pretty, vanity had never been missing from my life – who still looked like a kid? I was a thug's wildest fantasy. But the pretty little blonde kid held a secret. I could fight back.

I had been fighting back for a long time; to not lose it, to keep up appearances, even when all seemed lost. To never end up with my head in the oven; something that seemed impossible, seeing I hadn't owned an oven at that point. I hadn't owned anything, but I had tried to stay positive; a hard thing to do without any stability.

I had my façade; that of the ditzy blonde, so much like my mother, yet so different. I held onto my naivety, something that had been cut short at an early age, something I should have experienced for many years more than I had. That naivety stayed for a long while, mixed with the hard shell that showed my tough life.

Monica had been a breath of fresh air, taking me in, with only a second glance; maybe a third. Her uppity tightness had been a contrast to me, something I had never seen before, and her routine had soothed me. It had been stable, and I had thought that if I stuck with her, I would be stable too.

But the woman had nearly drove me crazy, and I had left, thankful to have found my grandma, and thankful to have all these new friends. Ross, Chandler, Monica, Joey, and most recently Rachel. All different and unique in their own special ways; all stable with their erratic lives.

Time passed and I had stuck with it, hoping still that they would rub off on me; hoping that I would finally have my sense of stability. But it hadn't happened, and now, with my life slipping away from gravity's grasp, and towards that of God's hands, I have finally found my stability. I don't know how and I don't know why, but I do know this:

Maybe my mom was on the right track.