I'm a crazy person. I started this blog two years ago and have since deleted all of my posts. So instead of sounding all professional and everything, this blog is going to be my little secret. Probably no one is going to read it, but that's fine. I'll start off this glorious and strange new blog with a poem about sandwiches, because why not. I'm a happy yummy sandwich, at least I think so, Maybe you won't think that, maybe you'll think, "no." What if you don't like me? If you think I'm bad? I wouldn't be happy... I'd probably be sad. The end. I'm weird lol.
Side note: I wrote this a long time ago and it's no good, but I'm going to let it simmer before I revise it again. The end is a bit rushed, but I'll fix that too. The Problem with Flying The summer I turned 13 was the coldest in my life up until that point. It snowed not once, but three times over the course of the summer. My little sister, Daisy, who was 6 at the time, thought it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her, but I hated it. The cold had always been unrelenting, quick to appear and slow to fade, and besides, I couldn’t see the bright side of an entire year I was to spend inside, which was a result of my mother- whom we all called Ma- not letting us outside without gloves and jackets unless it was over 60 o , and what thirteen year old boy enjoyed that? However, that year taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. It all started one gloomy morning in early June. Up until that point, I spent most of my time either pranking my sisters or sitting out ...