How Can Writing Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real? Also, Follow If U Luv Jesus.

Alright, before we begin, I'm told by someone that they don't know how to follow my blog, so I'm going to assume that means all of you, too. Listen closely, kids.

1. Proceed to https://www.blogger.com/home. Do not pass "go", do not collect $200.

2. On the left side, about mid-way up the screen, there is a button that says "add"

3. I hope to god that you can figure out on your own to put my blog's link in there. If you can't even do that after the previous sentence, then how the hell are you alive?

Now, without further ado, I shall begin with my usual profound shit about my emotions. Enjoy.



Has your life ever been so startlingly nice at times that you have no idea what you could possibly write about?

We learned a year ago in theatre (shoutout to my theatre teacher who's following my blog post) that our pain is what defines us, and even though we have happy experiences to draw on, it's always the pain and the bad stuff that we remember most. Even if my day ranked a 9, if I experienced a shitty event of some kind, that event might bring me down to a 6, most likely. The sad shit is what we pay attention to, and we never forget the pain we feel, even though happy things last mere weeks.

Ah, the life of a Tyrannosaurus is a simple one.

That being said, my pain is what I like to write about. My blog allows me to have an outlet for me to spit out all my sadness onto a page and get it out of my heart. We enjoy watching bad movies because we love to complain about them (oh, we humans LOVE to complain about shit), we also enjoy reading bad books because we love to complain about them. Why do we enjoy complaining about these things? Because complaining about the bad stuff is just another way of getting it out. Complaining about the bad, like I do in my blog posts, is what helps us vent and let go of it.

Good luck getting that out of your head in the next decade.

Happiness, strangely, has become commonplace for me these days. I usually only write about happiness when it's so big that it outshines all the bad shit that's going on. I write about me being happy because it's a change, and a positive one at that, and I try to put something philosophical in them, but in reality, it's not solely because I want to shed some profound light into your life, but rather because it's a feeling, it's something, and no matter whether it's good or bad, I need to get it out, because if not, I'll obsess over it until it overwhelms me.

Hurrah, journal entries

I've wanted to do a blog post for a while now, but I've faced that utterly terrible hopeless dilemma that causes writers to freak out because they have nothing to write about. The days since my last post haven't been even close to uneventful, but even so, they are common, and it's the common things we take for granted.

...Have I just realized that I like bad days? Weird, especially considering that I never want these good days to end. I have specifically said in one of my previous posts that I do, though, because after all, how can we know when a day is great and amazing if we never occasionally have a day that's nearly complete shit? And even then, how can we think to know how to turn it around into the best day ever?

I suppose, in the end, I just wanted to write, because writing is my catharsis, and I write all kinds of things, things that vary depending on the mood I'm in (you can guess how it looks when my mood is "lazy"). I write from my heart, and I've exhausted my supply of bad things to rant about, which is great, despite the fact that my love life remains unfulfilled, what with barely seeing my love interest at all. I'd complain further, but I figure if you want to read about shitty teenage romance, you'd probably find a book to read instead.

"Those who think we never read the books are gonna be really disappointed to know that we read the books.
Except for twilight...because f*ck twilight" -Cinemasins

After that, feel free to do some complaining of your own.