I like to talk about many things. It all just spills out, 
like the fact that I made this entire listttt! Oh yeah!

my room: 9 books in desk, 29 books on top of bookshelf, 12 
books in shelf 1/6, 15 books in shelf 2/6, 20 books in 
shelf 3/6 (with one duplicate), 30 books in 4/6, 7 books in 
5/6, 22 books in 6/6. 19 books on table. This doesn't yet 
include the books in the cabinet.
 
It's so coool! I love writing! I live text! Free us from 
fire!

I'm kidding. I'm just a regular joe who likes to talk a 
lot, at least, wherever I find most pleasing. It's a dandy 
little thing, yk?

I don't know how to "about" myself without feeling that I'm 
biting my own foot or stubbing it, or whatever. It feels 
reductive, like I'm squeezing my things into some container 
where they shouldn't go, and I mean by things by the things 
that you don't want damaged. Sensitive little parts. 
Any-fricking-way, here we go! It's-a-me!