Entry after entry, deleting as we go. When I'm tired I'll lie on my bed with the door closed in an attempt to block out the outside world, just thinking. Perhaps now, in my fifteenth year, now that I have achieved such wonders as breasts and periods (Of course, these were not only this year, I am -not- that premature) and words longer than 6 letters, I can finally be of some use to someone, or to the world in general. Maybe I can paint a picture or write a poem (And not a silly teenage angsty one; been there, done that) or plant a tree or, or, or. or maybe I'll just waste away.