You are going away for a while (40 days). This isn't because I don't like you. I love you. It was so nice to have you when I was in Scotland because everything was so hard that I just had to disappear and come here so that I didn't have to be There anymore. But I've been home for quite a while now and everything is great. Except that I sometimes don't do my homework, or other stuff I need to do. And a lot of this is because I like writing in you so much that I sit down and start doing it, and don't want to stop.
You are more diabolical than Solitaire and other things with no benefit. You aren't more diabolical than the thing I tried to give up last year, because I lasted about ten days and had horrible dreams. Although, you are something I can tell my mom about (at least in the abstract). The problem with you is that you aren't all bad; I mean, in theory I am happy about you. I feel that some of the things I write about in you are interesting and useful to other people. Sometimes it makes people talk to me which is nice. Mostly Todd. I guess Todd will talk to me even if I don't have a blog.
I'm tired and having trouble putting words together, but this is my last chance to do so and I know I should try hard. I used to have some notebooks where I would try to explain my problems and interests to myself. Well, I like you better, because other people read you so I feel that you have a purpose. But what I'm saying is that you're actually worse, because even though you make it hard for me to get stuff done, you actually do have a purpose and are a good thing for me in a lot of ways. This makes you hard to say no to, because I can always think of a reason why it's good to write in you instead of doing my assignments and stuff.
Goodbye dear planet and baby bear. Goodbye, Mr. Man. Goodbye, castle raincoat and maybe when you are older facts will be different. I mean, in no time at all Christ will have risen and I will once again be able to use you as a not unproductive procrastination method when there are so many things to do and I feel scared.
P.S. Except maybe the Blog Carnival if I have time.
P.P.S. If you are not a blog, thank you for reading, even though it's sort of eavesdropping for you to read a letter addressed to my blog.