Okay.
So I'm back.
I dug myself out of the grave that is school.
I've good news: I'm out of most of my teenage angsting.
I've bad news: I'm afraid my grammar and vocabulary abilities have deteriorated.
I've even more bad news: Imagination is dead. Slaughted heartlessly by a teacher, who shall remain unnamed.
You will have to put up with me, this deformed mind of what was once human.
Or you can shoot me with a pixelated gun. Your choice.
Chances are, you won't care. You'll have skipped right over my little thread of writing.
You'll leave me in my own agony, to smother in the dullness of the modern world.
