I'm Weird

I am. It's no one's 'fault' - I was just born this way...

Really, though, I am a little strange. I mean, honestly, how many nineteen-year-olds 1) spend any of their free time looking up Gilbert and Sullivan operettas or 2) just want to live in a decent-sized apartment, close to bookstores and coffee shops, where I can throw tarps down in the living room and paint?

That's really all I want. A quiet, calm life.

I want a place where I can write and paint and sew and just live for a while. I want to do interesting things for no reason at all.

I have so may ideas, they're just trampling all over each other in there. That drive to write is slowly coming back to me, I think.

So this is good. This is all good.

And I should probably sleep. I get to go driving tomorrow and I want to make my mum not be a ball of nervous energy about that.

I also drew a creepy doll. I've named her Jodie.

So, that's about where I am. I'm just... things are actually going. They're not just stuck in limbo anymore - which is great because my back was killing me - and I'm just along for the ride now. Cool.

Bye for now, guys. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

(Also, this is my 160th post on here. ... I know, right? I talk a lot.)