write right rite

I'm home again. Home meaning my dad and friends and the city that I love even though it's smelly and kind of empty sometimes. Even though home means doing more work and worrying about my future and other things that I am told are important. I'm so glad to be back, despite that.

I've just read all of these old crazy things I wrote on google docs over the past year, and I stopped and wrote a new one. I've written several letters to people with no intention of sending them. Well, not exactly people. More or less one person. It's really stupid. If anybody other than me ever read any of the stuff I write, I would be mortified. It's like a weird, slightly obsessive-compulsive, crazy person diary written to people. Also, I write in my diary as if someone from the future is going to read it. Is that so unreasonable though? I will probably read it in the future. Hopefully nobody else will though-I write the most stupid things. I wonder what Sylvia Plath wrote in her diary when she was my age. I think about her a lot, but I feel like I can't read The Bell Jar yet. I just don't think I can do it. Maybe when I'm a little less crazy? I really want to though-it has the attraction of playing with fire, or climbing really tall trees. It's like Legs baby.

Anyway, in some ways, I kind of wish that my unsent letters on google docs were read by their hypothetical recipient(s). I wish that they could understand why I'm writing. I wish I could understand why I'm writing. Frankly, I have no idea. I had this whole thing where I wanted to write more this summer so that I could get better at it, but I don't think it's working out so well. I've only ended up writing around once a month on average, and I'll probably write less for myself once school starts. It's not like I have anything important to say, and it's not like anyone ever reads this anyway. Why would they?