I have come to realize that I hate writing in journals. I start and then life interrupts. It takes a surprising amount of energy and will power to find the book, bend the spine and scrawl down my thoughts. So I find myself returning to the computer screen. My xanga, while an archive of my eighth and ninth grade follies, has failed to mature along side me and my livejournal has a far too public flavor.
This place seems nice, inviting almost. It has my aesthetic: very simple, clean lines and a nice font. I'll see what I can do about writing in it often. I feel like I am going to need some place to explore my emotions once I get to conservatory. Something tells me that the people I am going to meet will be inspiration enough for a nightly diatribe.
So tell me writing, my old friend, will I fall for you again?
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