I want to cry at how much I know. In a good way. It's so amazing, when I sit down and write the pages of my book, all that comes out. Things I honestly don't think about, and yet I know. Amazing things. Revolutionary things. Solutions. That's what's so amazing about them. Is that they're solutions to all the entrapments of life. We feel so stuck, so miserable in life, don't we? Don't many people? Not that I do, rest assured. I love life and love myself.

Which is why I have the ability to pass on this wisdom. And although a lot of it is not proven, but believed to be true, thus, debatable... there are many things that I believe that have changed my life. And there's nothing you can say to take away that proof. My book is about thought. It's called Underage Thoughts. It's about thoughts. It's about the mind. It's about what we believe. Our emotions. It's not about what we do. There are so many organizations, religions, teachings - that guide us on what we need to actively do. And then there are organizations and the like, that teach us about life, sometimes about our place in it. They teach us about the somewhat objective bigger picture. And that's what my parents do.

But this is strictly about YOU. It's about introspection. In an intense sense of the word. And although I teach a lot about what I believe the self is and how it works, mostly as a reflection of what I believe my own self is and how it works... I'd like to think that the biggest teaching of my book is that, by example, others can realize that it's Possible to look inward. I won't even get into that whole Jesus mistake. What people did with Jesus' teachings is incredible.ly dumb. :p But let's be optimistic and hope people don't do the same thing with what I teach. I can optimistically say that there are those who will and there are those who won't. Instead of concentrating on all those that can't be helped by me, I'd like to appreciate those who can. Those who are like me.....

Although I don't know anybody like me, but my dad. And every once in a while, my mom. But less my mom than my dad. I guess, in some sneaky sense, I don't want anybody to be like me. I want to be special. I have to let that go.

Anyway, I'm day dreaming, about my book being finished. I don't know why I'm stalling. Cause every time I sit down to write, it's all there, so ready SO READY to be drawn out of me and put down on paper. But I don't often sit down to write, that's the problem. And I give excuses about school and the like, but what about last summer? I had all the time in the world and I did nothing. Why didn't I write? What is it going to take to get me motivated?