What can I say about an eighteen year old girl who has not died? That she is not beautiful. Or brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles. And me.
Except perhaps that she is me.
No, I don’t like Love Story,I think its pretty ordinary, and if I had to pick an Erich Segal novel I would pick ‘The Class’ over it anyday, but if I really had a choice I would pick neither.
I knew that if I waited too long to start a blog because I couldn’t think of a brilliantly creative idea I would end up using the worst way in the world to begin one.I guess I could say its part of this being honest thing. Oh, I didn’t tell you. I am going to be completely honest here and all. Because I am this completely screwed up person who is afraid to let people know who I am because I think they will hold it against me. There you go. I told you something really true about myself already.
I am really tired of calling everyone to say how my life is going, so from now on, you can all check here, and you’ll probably know more than I ever would have told you.
Honest to blog.
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