I thought maybe a break from all the frills could be good. I'm meant to tell you about me here, but boy am I terrible at that. My mind pulls a disappearing act whenever I need to say what I'm all about, and I'm not talking about one of those tricks where the bunny goes into a cleverly hidden contraption in the hat. My mind is a true, real deal magician. Man is it good.
The truth is, I don't really know what I'm ALL about. There's no big resounding thing that I do or that I'm good at, though there are loads of things I love. And people. And places. A secret fourth noun as well, I'm sure. When it's discovered I'm sure I'll take it in all its categorical splendor. For now, I'll say all the mega boring tid bits about myself: I'm 22 years old at the time of writing this, living really far from home for university. I've spent the past few months absolutely fucking broke, I'm talking no food in the fridge, no money in my account, digging in couch cushions for change to buy cigarettes (long story). I write essays for folks who don't feel like doing their finals for a living, which is ironic considering I am a folk who doesn't do her finals in order to write finals for folks who don't feel like doing their finals. I guess I also sorta don't feel like doing my finals either. I discovered recently that I am an incredibly low bar, though it didn't take much longer to realize I quite like it that way. I'm a terrible dancer, I've played the bass for 15 years only in front of the posters on my walls, I burn mixes in my free time, and I really like video games. I talk loads as well, though you probably could've guessed from the whole blog dedicated to what I've got to say.I really like asking questions. Listening to music has been the only consistent hobby in my life, though I don't think I'd have it any other way. I used to make comics, maybe I'll do that again sometime. I love anecdotes. This whole thing kinda blows, I know. I'll try and rewrite it with a clearer mind tomorrow. For now, it's December 13th 2025, and I've spent the entire day trying to make something a 16 year old version of myself would be happy I finally did. I think I succeeded, even if it's all over the place and makeshift. All she wanted was for me to write, even if I'm bad at it. Now I've got a place to do it. Right, that last part: I love writing.