This blog sucks. It really sucks.
I need some kinda layout. I wish I knew how to do web design. If I had a nice page, I’d probably get my own domain. www.thatstangly.com or something. But I think that might actually already be a website.
I need something special to include in these entries. Perhaps pictures of myself posing in front of a full-length mirror making kissy faces or just looking angry in general. Yeah, I’ll post that. I suppose I should get a flickr account. I’m afraid of posting pictures of myself and my friends because people may stalk us. Maybe I should have a “daily thing” photo. I’m driving myself insane. Also, I don’t really have a style, so you’d be seeing the same photos over and over again.
I’m not deep, I’m gonna stop pretending to be. I’m 22 and I am bitter.
I get extremely jealous when I read other people’s blogs. I want their lives. I want their things. I want their lovers. But sitting in front of a computer for twelve hours a day is not something I relish.
I am not a photographer. I am not very artistic. I am basically screwed in the “blog world” from the get-go.
I’ve had more spare time than I know what to do with these past few days. I’ve become an active member of Matador Travels, and people have been very welcoming. Finally, some comments. I pulled some old shoeboxes out of my closet last night and rummaged through old letters and pen-palling items like Slams and Decos. I remember how those used to be my WORLD in high school, and correspondence by mail was the highlight of the universe. I haven’t written a letter in years, and strangely, I don’t miss it. I made so many incredible friendships by mail, and yet I cannot find the energy to pick up a pen and continue that correspondence.
My grandmother introduced me to pen-palling when I was six years old. We picked out an ad in the Newfoundland Herald, and I exchanged letters with a girl named Mandy who wrote me on pink Barbie stationary. I brought the letter to school to show my teacher and J-Nurse told me I was “showing off.” We weren’t friends back then.
I need a new hobby. These past nights have been amazing; just empty hours waiting to be filled.
Where would you rather go, France or Spain?