(no subject)
Last night while rummaging my book chest, I found a neatly folded piece of paper with my name written on it. Inside was a letter I had written to myself when I was ten years old. After I finished reading it, I looked up and thought, "Wow, the ten year old me would be very disappointed to see what I've done with my life so far." I, however, am not. Not completely anyway. I plan to write another one soon and hope to read it after another six years have passed.
Winter break, for lack of better words, is great. I've never been one of those people who love sleeping in, but I do love waking up at 9, three hours later than I'd normally be waking up with school. I also love the loads of hanging out with Austin I've gotten to do. Ecstatic = me. 'nough said.
Winter break, for lack of better words, is great. I've never been one of those people who love sleeping in, but I do love waking up at 9, three hours later than I'd normally be waking up with school. I also love the loads of hanging out with Austin I've gotten to do. Ecstatic = me. 'nough said.