Just another one of those things...

This is my journal entry from last night:

"Is it so wrong to dream? Though I am not quite normal, my dreams nearly are. The want of writing a book series is something something I have had my eye on all of my life. Maybe I have been inspired by JK Rowling, but what difference does it make? I enjoy writing and once I get good enough, I will start seriously writing. I'll admit I've always been a dreamer, but not quite a doer. False hope and too much faith can do this to people.

I imagine myself as a successful, happy writer, simply living in another country: England. Roll your eyes if you mus, but I wear my London cap proudly, in hopes that I will someday achieve my dreams. Though I do wonder: Am I good enough? Can I possibly live up to standards set before me? No, not my siblings: Stephen King; JK Rowling; JRR Tolkein.

I know my book right now is poor. What do I expect: I am sixteen! But I hope that I'll someday improve, improve, improve. That's all I'll write for tonight, I s'pose.Happy birthday, to Ginny Potter, though. I hope all is well."

I know why I feel so sad, lately, too. I have no friends. Sure, there may be one person that I hang out with, but really, we're so different. My camp friends haven't contacted me much since camp ended, and I am supposed to be receiving a package any time now... We have a kind of 'sisterhood of the traveling pants doll' thing going on, and I was at the beginning of the list, so I don't quite see why I haven't received it yet...

It makes me sad that so few people care. Maybe you care, whoever you are, reading this. But you're so far away that hardly any relationship could be established.

-sigh-

Well, I guess I'm done writing about my feelings for now...