So, there's this problem with my brain. I have imaginary conversations with people I don't know, don't ever want to know or don't exist. It's a strange phenomenon. Say, for instance, I'm riding a bike. Suddenly I'm in a mysterious place trying to get away from this giant bear attacking monster with a wand who's trying to kill me. Then I get bored and embarrassed when a stranger drives past in a car and is all: O.o is she on drugs?
I'm not on drugs. I swear. I'm an average human being with a slight tendency to sugar and I guess something you'd call an overactive imagination. It's a great life, being me. And since I have six or so other blogs that are terrible, terrible fails at life and I recently quit NaNoWriMo being around 43,000 words behind. So I made a new blog in which I shall try and be witty and use proper grammar and post short stories and complain about life and make this a truly fancy blog.
I like pudding. I like Potter. I hate people. Let's get started!
When I was around seven, my family took me to Disney with my older brother and my little sister. I'm a middle child. How dramatic. Anyway, we were on this Lion King safari and the guide was someone who was clearly there by force. He was joking and people were laughing and by the end of the ride, I somehow thought that there was this sense of comrade between me and this tour guide. The tour ends, and all chummy and happy like I shout "Your jokes aren't funny!" to this poor tour guide who is just trying to make an honest living in the "happiest place on earth." My parents were mortified and until about a year ago this story has haunted me. I'd cry with embarrassment whenever my dad or mom told the story and I'd swear that I would runaway if it was ever told again.
I was so melodramatic. True story. End blog.
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