Dear Nobody(s),
It has (not) recently come to my attention that I have lost touch with something. Be it myself or myself, I cannot honestly say, but minimally growing effort is expending itself to the rectification of this problem.
What is going on in here? What has happened whilst I was meaninglessly departed?
I'm walking around for the first time in months. Is anyone still here? I was away before...and alone.
How was I, in the absence? Wonderful. Horrible. Responsibility has reared its ugly head, for realsies this time, and I can't shake it off any longer. To say I've been busy is a bit of an understatement, but I'm here now, at the tender time of 3:51 AM, on a Saturday morning. I'm actually supposed to be waking up in six hours or so to do some volunteer work at school. Did I ever mention that? Despite my misgivings about the Hypocritical honor 'club' at my high school (which Mel happens to be a VP of), volunteering is actually pretty fun. Not really in the so-called 'discovering new parts of myself and growing as a person and having the self-satisfaction of helping others' vein of fun, but just because it's enjoyable to do things with friends. Isn't that funny? Whether it be bowling a worse game than the president, or cleaning up hundreds of cigarette stubs in the streets, or playing Halo off the school network, or sitting like idiots in the blood donation clinic half an hour after closing time, it's still fun. Inner discovery my ass, that's just common sense. That does remind me though; my blood type is O-. I'm a hero o: There have also been school, with my grades and standardized testing and advanced placement hoohaa. That pretty much explains itself though. Serious business.
This place is different now. The lights have dimmed, the chair now uncomfortably stiff. The books are now covered with a not-so-thin layer of dust, and the fire but dead ash in the dark. The young birds once nested in the window have now long since flown away. The pen lays quietly, forlorn but not forgotten. The pile of things to do piles ever higher, but the ink has dried.
Truly,
Will
