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It was a long weekend. Long enough that I actually took the time and completed a large chunk of notecards. Considering I wasn't planning on doing them because I find that part of the assignment particularly stupid, I felt expecially...well, special. As if I should recieve some sort of congrats. Funny really. Though, of course today when I start turning things in, it's late (even though I missed a day of school) but it's kind of disappointing when you do work hard on something, and put a great amount of effort into it, even something you absolutely hate doing, and it really doesn't amount to what you were expecting. Oh least it's done for the most part. I still have work to do, and I plan on turning it in late...why not. Points are going to be taken off anyways if i turn it in uncompleted. I hate english class. --.--
But, I do love creative writing. I remember when I took that course in North Dakota. It was awesome, and I even took journalism. Not really my thing but a fun experience none the less. I miss those days. Right now I do feel kind of swamped...only by english. It seems that even when i catch up i'm behind so...i'll just turn everything in late and try not to worry about it. Go at my own pace.

Today, in one of those periods of abstract thinking, writing a book crossed my mind. It has before but I noticed something. For me, the phrase, "Someday, i want to write a book." always pops to mind not when I necessarily want to, but when I need to write. Like now, I'm stressed a little so I write. I had all summer to relax, and didn't write too much. It's not so much the book that is written, it's the reason why i want to write it. Interesting. Self-analysis is kind of like digging in a toybox i'd say because you can pull one thing out and look at it, play with it, do whatever, but then you have to clean up again. I don't think you really lose anything, you just sort of don't play with it anymore.

I also found that I had extra note cards and started writing on them because I was a little bored. Not for notes, just random stuff. It's different from paper and typing, and i guess in some weird psychological mesh helped make my thoughts different, helped make what i wrote different. No wonder people write on napkins...

Nothing is every like a giant cornmaze. I went to one over the weekend, it was great, but i'm glad we had a map otherwise i would have been lost for hours.

I'm in a nutshell

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