So here I am. Having to write a paper on writing papers for school. Actually, I lied. I'm writing it because I have nothing else to write about. What is there to write about? The same thing as every other person in this world? I know, I'll write about finding the perfect guy, or finding him then losing him. I'll randomly state something I hate and begin a story that way. I would, but they are all others ideas, and if I attempted to base a story on what they have I would end up with the same basic story line and structure, and it would pretty much be the same story in simpler terms. I like writing. I just kinda suck at it. I don't know what to write about, and when I get to a piece of paper or the computer that's when I know least. Laying in my bed at night I could think of a billion perfect things to base a story on, too bad it's always just one sentence that would be perfect in the middle of a story, somewhere unnoticed. I'm listening to music. Sad music. Need to get in the writing mood, y'know? My facebook IM is going off. Not really. I'm not a people person. I am, but I just don't like people. I have friends, but not friends. I guess that's just how life is. So let's toast to it, old chap. No? Alright. My neck hurts, it's like I twist it a bit to the right and it just cramps. It feels kinda cool though so I keep doing it. I'm chewing on a silly bandz. I always am so happy to get them but I chew on them and break them. I just sneezed. Sneezing is gross. It's just like, hey, I'm going to feel tickling up this strange part in my face hear, make a weird face, close my eyes, and put my hand over these two holes called nostrils that have ooze dripping out of them. Gross. Did that make any sense? I'm not exactly sure. Does it matter? Who's to say anything matters? Who's to say anything makes sense? Who's to say you're even reading this, that I'm even typing this? I went to church yesterday and I got a green balloon. It made me happy. But my cat popped it. That made me sad. So my eighth grade has like, 200 kids in it or something, and we all had to enter a poetry slam and one of my poems made the top 25. Cool, right? I didn't like my poem. I like reading poetry more than writing, because there is always so many peoples better than mine. Mine are simple, they don't have symbols in them that mean the opposite of what they say or anything. They are just kinda.. there. Well. That'll be all. Ciao.
I don't know what category this goes into so this'll do.
April 18, 2011