Writing this because I'm too depressed to write for my newspaper. Not like I needed any more reason to not want to churn out my "fashion" articles. Maybe writing isn't really my thing... Go figure. (I don't really know why I said "go figure" it just fit... although it probably doesn't)

I've began to realize that there are other people out there that have problems. Worse than mine. Nicer people with more friends, I dunno what to do.. meh.

Everyone knows that the interwebs is already filled with drivelling thoughts and stories and self taken pictures . I consider my drivelling thoughts and stories and self taken pictures to be no better than the rest, but hey you know what its like to be a sad little adolescent, and in this chrome smothered age of technology, a diary just doesn't cut it. mainly because I hate forming letters with a pencil, but there's also the possiblity of it being found. Which would be different if someone on the internet would find this blog. The chances of either being found are both sort of slim, however the possibility of who finds this drain of toxic teenage emotions. Instead of parents finding a bruised little book and circulating it among relatives, it could be anyone....else.

Un-Roast - I love those rare moments, with the right lighting, and the right bathroom mirror, when my reflection is flawless. Emphasis on rare.... and flawless (you know, the little compliment to yourself at the end of each post thats also on "Eat the Damn Cake". Go google that and read it instead... I know I would)