I always ending up feeling like the adult in any given situation. I have to be the adult. People years my senior become little kids when I talk to them. Age numbers are stupid. Pointless. People are at odds to these numbers, fearing them or praising them as they see fit to best match theirselves. I’m lost.
I should have… done something more for my valetine. Her present was so detailed… so complex. I had candy… I’m worthless. I’m sorry. I’m actually playing the blues on the guitar. I don’t know any love songs. Ironic.
Talked to my favourite math teacher from last year today. She’s still as nice as ever. Glad I got to talk to her. I miss Magnolia at times. It was a place where I could be me and people respected me instead of the age number by my name. Ah, yes, I’m dwelling. Angry? No… flustered to find a real reason though. Lately, my words become backwards… I lost control of my penmanship and my typing. Backwards. sdrawkcab? Why is it that I still see little difference, they’re the same word. I just noticed that it’s really not backwards; it’s jumbled. I would make an excellent creator of those annoying “unscramble the word” puzzles I’ve done so much in my school life.
Somebody asked me why I always type in short, concise sentences. It’s a little inside joke: the longer the sentence, the more poetic I end up making it.
Just for tonight, I’ll learn a love song for the guitar and sing it outloud in my room for you. Goodnight.