Hey little apple blossom, what seems to be the problem?

I haven't written in my journal for a long time (my hard cover journal, not this newfangled in-ter-net thing--although, looking at what I used to write in my journals, the question of which type of journal is more silly is highly debatable). But last night, I picked up my pen and started writing, and right there, four pages. And I write small.

I think the reason living like a hermit in the wilderness appeals to me so much is not only the solitude, but also the heightened activity level necessary for survival. I've always loved survival stories, and I think that's because in a survival situation, someone would need to be busy all the time, and every action would be vital.

Even when I was little, I always wanted to keep busy with a lot of things, and I wanted to do important things. Really, that's all I care about. Sometimes people compliment me because I can manage school and activities, but I always feel weird receiving that compliment. It's just how I am--I've never been able to live any differently.

Well, this entry is taking me all of Bizarre Love Triangle to finish, so I'm just gonna cut it off here.