November 16th

     Hey. I don't really know what to write. It's 10:11pm right now. My brother just got out of the bathroom. I'm on my bed, half sitting, half laying down. I'm tired. I'm always tired. My computer's at 27% right now. I don't why I mentioned that, I guess I just felt like it. I kind of have to go to the bathroom. I know it won't make any difference to you, because you won't have to wait, but I'll be right back.

Okay, I'm back. I know you're probably bored. I'm not really sorry for that, though, because I'm always bored. Sorry for not being sorry. You're probably annoyed now too, because I keep talking about being sorry about not being sorry, so I'm sorry for doing that, and also for saying sorry for doing that. I could continue for a long time, but I do want you to keep reading.

I've always had trouble writing. Sure, everyone has always told me I'm a great writer, I should be an author when I'm older, they can't wait to see what best-selling novel I write in the future, and all that crap, but I get bored way too easily. The only actual stories I've been able to finish are ones I wrote in school, because I had no choice. That's why I'm blogging: I don't have to finish, it doesn't have to be good, and I don't have to continue something I don't like anymore, 'cause I can write whatever I want.

It's 10:29pm now. Now 10:30. My parents want me to go to bed, even though it's early and I know I won't be able to fall asleep for a long time. I always daydream before I go to sleep, usually romantic stuff, and it seems just as real and vivid as real life, only I know it's not actually happening. I've never told anyone before, because it feels kind of wrong, but I also feel really good when I do it. 

Anyway, I gotta go now. I'll blog again tomorrow.


P.S. It says I posted this on November 17th because I forgot to publish it before I went to bed. I'm not lying about the day. Not that it would matter, anyway.

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