Well, I'm back. And extremely angry. My dad, the prompt one in the family, showed up at play practice late. Half an hour late. I haven't eaten since twelve and you want to show up half an hour late? What?! I was just so angry. I felt like I could of cried...seriously.

I should be doing my speech for English which is due tomorrow, but this blog is probably more important. Hopefully if I write enough in the first couple of posts I'll actually want to continue posting. Me and diaries don't stick. I don't know. The first couple of months, everything goes smoothly. I write/post everyday and people actually read about what I write. No one EVER comments (unless they want to say how much I suck) but I never get my hopes up. But, as I grow older (and more reclusive) I want to actually keep track of my live, however boring it may be. I mean, this blogging stuff has to stick. I mean, this time at least. I don't know why it has to, but it does.

Since I have time on my hands, I guess I'll describe myself...If anyone ever reads this in the future (I know it won't be soon) hopefully they won't lose interest by this part. Ok, I'm black (well, crayola brown to be exact). Um, 5'9 1/2 feet tall and overweight as my doctor likes to put it. I mean, you would expect a hermit to be overweight, wouldn't you? C'mon now. Hermit? Hermits aren't the sex godesses like normal people. They stay in the house for a reason...

Well, my personality is obsolete. I mean, I have one, but it's hidden by my constant complaining and shouting. I complain about everything and shout alot cause I think shouting is fun. I usually just shout out my teachers names....since I hang out with my teachers...After school at least...ok...

I'm done. I could go into this vast description of myself and my looks and all of my friends but I can't do that. First, I'm pretty lame. Not even like the cool *I'm different* lame. I'm just lame. I'm the *Why is that being of life still breathing air* lame. The person in the background lame. Just lame. Second, my looks is not something you want to describe. My looks are eh. They're not worth a whole sentence. They're eh. Not the sex godess but not the hunchback of notre dame either. Just eh. Third, when air is your constant companion, you don't really want to describe it. Air is my friend. Air is ALWAYS nice to me. Lol. Seriously though, I have friends, but I think they're friends. They just think I'm the genious loser with nothing better to do. Seriously. I wish I could make some of this crap up, but it's all TRUE. And the truth kills.

Whelp (I invented the word whelp by the way...), I should be doing English. Hopefully, I will post sometime in this lifetime. I doubt it though.Whelp, bye

(Or should I say *Ciao* to make me seem cooler?....Nope.)
Bye.