I just want to talk. I just want to type. The other day I was cleaning my room and unpacking after returning from school, and I found a shit load of creative writing of mine from creative writing class from my junior year in high school. I fell in love. I don’t know why my styles changed so much. I need to continue chasing after what I truly want. That is letting my mind speak freely to the paper via pen that I hold in my hand. Although I find that my handwriting appears substantially more clear when I write with pencils. I don’t know why.
Apparently mixing beer with strawberry cupcakes completely diminishes the feeling of intoxication. If I had a partner, I would most certainly play pong. But my only friend is Coors Light and a Mac computer. What am I doing?
