I’ve decided to write more poetry. It just seems like the logical thing to do. My lackluster attempts at a novel died and died hard, but perhaps I simply started too big. I shall start with verse. Yes, that’s what I’ll do…verse… Honestly, what type of self-respecting person isn’t a poet? In poetry all things are discovered and found. How absolutely corking it is. There are many reasons for poetry, and yet so few boundaries. It can go horrendously wrong if done incorrectly, true, and there are mounds and mounds of bad poetry, but I like the idea. hehehe

Mum and I are going house shopping tomorrow. I really don’t want to stay in the valley; the word is my playground and how I yearn to play! Utah is silly, what type of geese would stay in Utah? Silly goose…

Yawn. I’m tired. What I am writing is so scattered and senseless, and I’m bothered by it. I’ll go ahead and post it, however; one’s view of me must be complete if it is to be correct.