Now that that's out of the way, I get to talk about me. Hurray. I'm not very good at this, so bear with me.
I'm old enough, but too young for you. I live, laugh, and love in a small suburb that no one has ever heard of in the armpit of America. High school is supposed to hold the best years of our lives. It has yet to disappoint.
Spelling is a big issue with me. It has been, ever since pre-school when the teachers couldn't spell my name correctly. And it wasn't that hard to mess up, either. They kept changing it so that it was a masculine form. Maybe that's why I went through that stage when I thought I was a guy?
I'm a procrastinator, but not because I'm lazy or anything like that. I just don't feel comfortable finishing things early. If I try and fight it, and do something more than a day before it should be finished, I end up either dismantling it, deleting it, or throwing it away. I'm trying to write poems for another community with a 100 day time frame, and it's hurting me not to get rid of the fourteen poems I've finished already.
I like fire. And hot wax. The whole wax thing probably started when someone gave me one of those machines that melt the wax down and you soak your hands/feet in it. It feels like heaven; you really should try it. Fire, on the other hand, is a mystery. I have no clue when my obsession started, but I keep matches and lighters in my room so I can calm myself with fire. I suppose it just relaxes me.
Like someone before mentioned, open doors make me crazy. I can't concentrate with a door open. It makes me very uncomfortable.
I must sleep in complete darkness with some sort of mechanical whirring in order to lose consciousness. Otherwise, I sit up all night. I have to cover my alarm clock at night because the digital display keeps me awake. It's annoying.
I also have a tendency to narrate what I'm doing. In the back of my head right now, I'm thinking of ideas for a story, I guess. For now, I'll just type what I think:
"She sat slumped over in the chair, flexing her shoulders as she busily typed about her strange obsessions. Letting out a deep breath, she looked over to the door creaking open, then promptly pushed it shut with her bare foot."
Maybe I'm creative?
My mind tends to wander a lot, so my posts do tend to ramble. Sometimes I go off on a tangent and start to scare myself. But that's only when I'm left alone. If I'm speaking to someone else, obviously the topics don't stray that far most of the time.
Anyway, I'm out of things to talk about for now. I've got a million things on my mind, and can't start writing about everyday occurences. That involves too much thinking. Things just happen, and I don't think they're weird at all.