I enjoy writing. I enjoy it a lot.

When I was an angsty thirteen year old,I used to bombard this site with my whingey poems & writings about whichever problem was affecting me that day (oMgZzzz!!11 hE lyK T0taLi ddnt l00K @ mEEE 2dy!!11 etc). I used to whore my writing about everywhere, because, at the time, a line that had stars and scars in it was deemed beautiful & perfect, & pretty much all of my writing had that in it somewhere, so I was under the impression that whatever I had written was actually decent.

My now seventeen year old self knows a little better than to go flaunting everything that is ever scribbled down, & I am now using several notebooks as an outlet for all that teen-angst that, yes, I admit, I still feel occassionally - it's just, now, I don't feel the need to publicise the fact that the boy I like doesn't like me back. In fact, while it was everything back then, nowadays, it's barely worth thinking about, nevermind writing a whole poem about.

But anyway. Back to the subject. What was the subject? I'm not sure. I'm not entirely sure where I'm trying to go with this whole thing, actually. Oh well. Not to worry. I'll think of something.

... no, I'm not feeling it.

Anyway, so ... I maypost something new here,I may not. We'll see.