To Be Completely Honest,

I’m only making this because my mom made me. And I know exactly how lame that sounds but I’d like to say I’m actually pretty cool.I’ve always wanted to start a blog, I just never have. In fact, I eventually wanted to be a famous blogger. I figured I had a lot to say, so why not? I would post daily about my boring nineteen-year-old life but readers would find me completely interesting. I would talk about the life lesson I’d just learned in a post where I was witty and charming. I would gain thousands of followers who demanded to know where I’d been when the time lapse between posts was too long. I’d always wanted to, I just never did. Except that one time I tried. I signed myself up for a blog site, picked a layout that I thought best represented me, poured myself a glass of orange juice and sat down to write.

But write, I did not.

I had no idea what to say. So here I am, still not knowing what to say and writing about me not knowing what to say.  It’s frustrating, but quite the common feeling. You can’t find something you’ve lost until you stop looking. You can’t lose weight until you stop trying. You can’t remember unless you stop thinking about it. A boy won’t like you back until you’ve stopped liking him, at which point the whole thing becomes pointless. It seems to be something my life is full of.

It’s the most annoying thing ever, of course, but it must come with the age. The awkward year of nineteen. Awkward age must equal awkward life.

My name is Laura, and not too long ago I was complaining to my mom about my body, to which she responded that if I really wanted to change myself I’d have to exercise. Somewhere, I found the courage to hop on the treadmill (it was 10:30 and too dark to run outside) and started on a jog. I stopped once I got annoyed of the fact that I was never going to reach a destination (I was running in place) by which point I had broken a big enough sweat to deem my ‘workout’ tough. I was just sweaty enough to feel like I’d done something (though I typically sweat like a pig so it might have been cheating), so I headed on inside, full of some unknown energy and will to tell a story, so I sat down to write. And then I ate a Twix.  I knew in my heart that I should not have eaten the Twix. I had just ran after all, burning calories just to (literally) shovel a chocolate bar into my mouth. But I had just ran…so it was okay right? Plus, Titan (our beloved family dog) was sticking his nose into my purse where the Twix lay hidden beneath my wallet and a sheath of old receipts, and I’ve heard chocolate was bad for dogs, so naturally. I had to save him, and whether or not the Twix made a detour into my mouth is not a big deal because I had basically saved my dog’s life.

My name is Laura, nice to meet you.

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