When I walked into the gym, twenty students were hoisting the giant wheeled ladder onto the stage. Twenty hands grasped it carefully, and as though it were nothing but a feather, it glided up and on to the scuffed surface of the stage. Somehow, it was the most uplifting thing I had seen in a long time. (Pardon the pun.) When it was time to take it down, twenty one hands, mine included, carefully lowered it back onto the gym floor. There was no distaste with one another, only calm communication. That was when I knew that our cast and crew for our show were close; a sort of family.


I have beard envy.

Sometimes I pretend I'm a princess.

I'm alone when I go walking, and up the little hill on my road I step lightly as though I were stepping with pearly skinned feet slippered in the silkiest, whitest, most intricate of footware. My toe goes first and then my heel, and the dirty ashfault is not good enough for me. There lies an invisible wire that I gracefully and confidentally step across, keeping my queenly self above the hustle and bustle of a humanity that isn't worthy of me. I hold my head up high and pretend that my skin is as clear as a glassy lake surface on an overcast day. My lips are slightly pink and my eyes are deep and shining, because an esteemed lady such as myself deserves only the lightest and most rare of maquillage. My hair is long and flowing and the curls are perfect and weave majestically about my perfect head. My hands are delicate, and my nails no longer ragged and dirty. They are little flat white stones on the end of my fingers. My body is covered in a gown that was woven from the spools of the moon, and around my throat hangs crystalized blood droplets.

My name is something stately and yet fantastical, chosen with the utmost care. Around my flawless lips is a smile, for I am aware of my stunning beauty, and every human who gazes at me stares at my smiling face. How can they resist?

Sometimes in my dirty shoes, faded jeans and scuffed leather jacket I pretend I'm a princess.

This blog has been made to display the influence that one friend can have on a group of people. This group now includes myself. I feel stupid writing this. Why am I here? Because I'm a sissy who can't resist talking in large paragraphs that are largely about my life, that's why. When facebook won't do, you get suckered in by your best friend into writing a blog.

Funnily enough, as I sit here typing, words are just spewing forth from my metaphorical mouth and I can't stop them. I think it's the lovely default font that this site has chosen. In the back of my mind I'm not thinking about documenting my life, I'm thinking about how large groups of text all dolled up in this font look oh so delightful. Essentially, I'm using as much brain function as I normally do, which is close to nill.

Why haven't I shut up yet?