"I love being RANDOM because pancakes are cool"
Recently, I have always felt the urge to write and write and write and never stop. Despite all my schoolwork and extracurricular and what not, I wanted to unleash my thoughts onto a blank screen, satisfied that I could at least make pictures out of words. Thus, this blog; a theraputic attempt to cope with my insane life and a way to make my writing stop being "metaphorical" and too "formal". Blah!

There are two things I do not want to be in my life and thus, in my blog. I do not want to be blatantly wrong. Honestly, who calls moose meesen? (inside joke!) Moose doesn’t sound like meesen anyway. Oh well, there are some people who revel in the prospect of stealing a garden gnome. I do not want any obvious grammatical errors. I value my life and friendship, to state the obvious. I have this friend who is such a MASTER of the English language, among other things, that she might get pretty mad over mistakes. Well, not really mad but maybe annoyed. Plus, I think grammar was invented for a reason and it should sound good……er well. So, in honor of her, I will yearn to write clearly and conscisely as possible.

I do NOT want to sound like Meursault or Meresalt or whatever his name is from the book The Stranger (the only book I hated, detested, and viled not for its plot but for its writing). I for one want to drone out about my emotions about random stuff. Which brings us to the quote written above.

I love random stuff; the more random it is, the more I love it. I want to learn more, from Ramsey Theory to Lawsonomy to the Creation-Myth-that-says-we-were-created-seven-minutes-ago to Savonarola’s Bonfire of the Vanities. Sometimes, I experience this state of euphoria, one I could only call being “drunk” on life and what it has the potential to offer. Especially on rainy days. Once, I was doing my homework in the wee hours of the night and I heard it rain and I felt happy, more happy than I ever felt in my life. I love the rain and the smell it brings, the smell of renewal, the smell of solitude, the smell of petrichor.