A car horn blares at me as I dart across the street. I flip the driver off and keep running. I'm already late for class and it's raining. The dude can wait.
As I run, I think. Two things have been foremost in the chaos of my mind this week, and I've been trying to solve these problems nonstop. The first is finding a suitable ending to my book: I'm on the last chapter but I can't figure out the right way to cut it off so I can have a nice lead-in to the second book. The second issue was what to talk about on my next post. I don't have anything particularly interesting going on, and no pressing thoughts, so what I'm going to do is an experiment.
An experiment in writing styles. And since I have no topic, I'll just stick with myself.
I'm 19. I've been in college for almost two semesters and I think I'm finally getting a little bit better at the whole thing. At least the social part. The student part needs some work.
I'm what you might call 'plain pretty'. I'm not bad to look at, though there are definitely girls out there who make mens' eyes skim right over me. For the most part, I don't mind. I've got pretty blue eyes and a pretty round, normal face. My hair is golden blond when the sun touches it, or on cloudy days just plain blond. Mostly, it's up in a ponytail.
I have hobbies and sports that I play. Like soccer. And horseback riding. I hate running though. Don't ask how I can hate running and love soccer. It's a win-lose relationship.
I read. I write. I watch television.
Sometimes I even do my homework.
I could go on, but let's face it. You don't want to hear about me and who I am exactly. Blogs are for ideas and deep thoughts. Or gossip. I don't really do either of those. I'm more of a fantasy writer than the dig-down-to-your-soul writer. Not that I don't have deep thoughts or interesting ideas. I just don't tend to do the whole soul-digging thing.
Maybe it's because I'm afraid of what I'll find there.
