Has it really been a year?

See, this is why I was never any good at keeping a diary or journal in the past. Though I'm known to produce some profound thoughts from time to time, I don't feel compelled to record my every thought and experience. If I did, the result would become tedious, both for me and my small circle of readers. I can stand to be any kind of failure except a boring one.

I suppose some would say I've completely wasted the last year of my life. I probably should be ashamed of the almost aggressive laziness with which I've greeted most days, but I wouldn't call them wasted. Let's just say I'm setting a standard that won't be too hard to surpass. On that note, there's a warm, inviting bed behind me with a warm, inviting man sleeping without me. What on earth am I still doing here?