You can just call me Senior Sleepy Pants.

But please, please don't actually call me Senior Sleepy Pants. I've got a reputation to think about, here.

So there's this diary I've got. Every entry in it has some heartfelt scribblings and a drawing. It's all very cute, a little silly, but really sincere.

I started reading through the entries thinking that every thing I wrote was going to be some self-indulgent, whiny, piece o' do-do, but I was surprised to see that a lot of the writing was actually pretty good. I mean, none of this is going to be published in The New Yorker any time soon, but like I said, it was still surprising. I dunno, I've thought about trying to use some of it in a video, and I think I might.

P.S. I use a stupid amount of commas in my writing. I think it's because my mind has these short spurts of thought and before I lose a good idea, I like to scratch it down while it's still there.

Buy anyway- I think I need to write in it again. I mostly think this because I need to be positive. If some super advanced alien race discovers my tattered drawing-diary centuries from now, I don't want them to read my diary(which still sounds funny for me to say... It's so feminine. Thus I will continue to refer to this drawing-diary as my "journal" from this sentence on) and let their impression of me be "Wow. This teen aged Earth child had many thoughts, a lot of them were full of sorrow and remorse. Had he no moment of peace?"

So there we go, I'm going to restart this drawing-journal, dangit. And when I restart it, I'm going to make an effort to write in it with faith and hope.

(sigh)... I do it all for the space aliens.