Keep Your Secret Safe

I will speak your language.

I like playing with my hair too much. My legs are kinda chubby. I'm really awkward. I drop stuff a lot, and imagine that everyone is in love with me, and never talk to anyone, and walk about half with head held high, half with slumped shoulders. I can't decide what I want to do or be. I change my mind pretty much every hour. If anyone in this world can understand me or love me, I give them credit. It's probably not easy. I've got a bit of a wandering eye, a free spirit, all topped with massive anxiety. I have pragmatism, empathy, everything on this planet. I'm not even all that pretty or spectacular or intelligent or significant. But for some reason the universe stuffed these traits into my soul, as if I deserved it. I think I need food. I think I need a nap. Nap? Nap? Or homework?

Tonight, I need to do my Resource Guide Analysis. It just needs to be formulated and typed out. Then I need to ONCE AND FOR ALL finish my thorough reading of Sutton-Spence's article and complete the outline. You can do this! You're intelligent!