Right now I should probably be filling out college applications or writing a college essay but I can't seem to focus so I decided to start my first blog. The truth is I had a short-lived music blog last year which has since been abandoned so it's a lie that this is my first ever blog post but I guess the statement can apply to this site. I ramble, whoever reads this should know that. Today I had an interview with a college alumn who wrote down the name of the book and said she wanted to buy it for her friends. I also saw the new Teen Vogue that mentions my essay along with 3 or 4 others. It's cool, really cool, but none seems real--not in one of those misty mind ways where everything seems like a dream because it's so exciting but rather that my essay feels as though it's not really mine so I can't overflow with joy over what's so unfamiliar. The problem with teenagers and young people in general is that they get sick of themselves so quickly. Or at least I do. Looking at who I was just a year ago feels weird and alien let alone having an essay I wrote two years ago that was for my English class--ie not for publication--published for the world to see. I wish I was more excited instead of slightly embarrassed. As I read the posts from other girls in the book I feel jelous of their feelings toward this book. Don't get me wrong, I'm past unbelievably happy to say I'm a published writer let alone at such a young age but every time someone asks me what my essay is about I feel the need preface it. I've gained weight this. I don't feel the same way that. It's tiring because I know this book is, in a large part, meant for other teen girls to read and relate to and by alienating myself from my writing I'm diminishing the severity of a girl's feelings about a problem that may be similar to mine. For that I'm sorry. I'm not sure why I've bothered to write this since not everyone who reads my essay can hear my preface in their ear but anyone can read this. For that I'm stupid.