No writing. Too busy burning my brain in other ways. Wish I wasn't. Rather be writing. But I do know about igneous rocks now. Sort of.

People not making sense in trying to explain how they see themselves, or how they wish to be seen, in predetermined ways that don't make sense to begin with. Or something like that.

My autobiography would be called In Spite of Everything, I Laughed: A Sort-of Autobiography. It would include elements that would necessitate the classification of it as a "sort-of."

"I need to be a better person and know when not to give in or give up."

I wrote that when I was 13, about to turn 14.

Hey, little Ana. You were a big dummy for thinkin' you had problems!
So, future Ana? You better think the same of current Ana.

I just noticed a little piece of my computer is missing; not an important piece I'm sure, just something that normally slides in & out, serving a purpose that is unknown to me & therefore not something I use. Since I don't know what the purpose of this piece is to begin with, it's always been a nuisance. Nevertheless, it could be anywhere, & I'm ( Read more... )

What have you done, Henry?

I found this among my things and I guess I'll post it since I took the time to do it.

( Go to sleep, Ana. )

This is an untitled poem I probably wrote on November 25th of 2009. I thought about it today, & then the mirror in my room shattered, so I thought I'd read it again. I still like it, although I added a line & changed a phrase ( Read more... )

My mouth feels weird.

Every year has its ups and downs.

Most years have had more downs than ups.

This year has had more ups than downs.