My Cinnapick, My View

As I sit here in the sunlight shining through the kitchen window I think that it would be a very fine idea indeed if I introduced myself properly. And of course the wonderful girl this written documentation is on. Call it what you may but I like calling it a documentary because she is definitely part of her own species. I, as the author, would like to tell you a little bit about myself. While I write this I am listening to my sister practice her violin. All I can say is that it is completely out of tune and I would rather like the listen to fingernail down a chalk board. Okay maybe not. But my poor ears cry out for help as they suffer the pain and sorrows of squeaky notes as the bow flows across each individual string. Yes, I said it flows. I swear, that girl is angelic when her fingers wrap delicately around the bow and she put the violin underneath her chin. Didn't I say I was gonna say something about myself? My name is Cecilia and I am the lucky sister of my little sister whom I call Cinnapick. She is mine and nobody else can have her. Looking at us people always think we are just really good friends and then we tell them we are sister and they give us that "mouth hanging to the floor" look. We look NOTHING alike and we take great pride in that because I have the looks of my mother's side and she has the looks from my father's side. I would like to confirm that these are indeed true tales of Cinnapick and that I do not make anything up that I am writing here. This is sacred and I would never ruin something sacred. Well I would but not anything of my own. I would have to be a traitor of myself. That itself makes no sense. I encourage you to read on as these stories unfold a little bit each day.