Not yet midnight and I’m so tired. Not sleepy, mind you, but just so bone-tired and weary. I don’t know how much more I can take of this life. How many more days must I go through the routine of what everyone else calls normal? Why should I try to be normal anyway? All I want to do is be myself – whatever that is. I don’t want to go to school like other kids and be stared at or asked questions or be expected to fill in the blanks or eat lunch with other people or tell them why I don’t care about them. I just want to go sit down by the lake and be near the trees. I want to go to the park and read my books. I don’t want to call anyone or have anyone text me. I don’t want to update my Facebook status or send a tweet. I only want to read—and not those electronic abominations, either. I want to hold a book in my hands, and turn pages made of paper. I’m sorry if the idea of cutting down a tree to make a book offends you. The idea of enslaving children to make mini-soldiers of them so someone can steal natural resources that make up computers offends me! Most books today are made from recycled paper products, anyway, and the components in computers or ebooks is from new land rapings so, I don’t want to hear it. I just want to be carried away to a better place. I want to spend my day reading.
Let me Read