I'm a freelance writer, right? Meaning, I sit here at the computer and type whatever happens to pop into my head. Like, I happen to really like chocolate milk. But I can't have any 'cause it's almost my bedtime. Maybe while mom + dad aren't looking. (I don't really mean that, you know? 'Cause they read my blog. but, by the time they found out, it would be too late, right? JK, guys.) I also love panda bears. And ice cream, and my feather pillow. I wish I had a giant feather pillow for a mattress. I think I'm thinking about pillows 'cause I'm tired. And my right pinky is numb, so I'm having trouble with that side of the keyboard. If I mess up, now you know why. I am messed up. I think that's why I want to be an actress, 'cause they're all messed up, and I've got that part down already.

Green grass. Blue sky. Soft warm breezes and a long happy sigh. Stars and moons and twinkling city lights and--you. I don't know who you are yet, but I'll find you. You--nevermind. I don't really expect you to understand. Or to care. Oh well. A girl can dream, right? That's what I do best, I think. Dream. And sing. But only to myself. Not for anyone else--yet. Maybe someday. I don't really know what I'm talking about. Maybe I should go to bed. Yes, that's what I'll do. Goodnight, everybody. I'll see you when the sun rises again.