Writing, writing. Writing about what exactly? I'm writing with a band-aid on my right index finger, which is not quite nice and I'm making a few mistakes. For example, I can't really feel the keys I'm typling right now and am strugglling with not deleteing all the mistakies m I'm making to try to sthow you how badly I'm doing.

I had a quiet time earlier today and afterward I felt like today is a good day. I wrote in my journal a little, listened to some music, and then read Psalm 63. It's full of good truths, especially for me today (the last bit about liars is encouraging). But God made me happy with it, praise Him. Hopeful and happy, but I got frustrated with my mother and my CRAZY TEENAGE HORMONES (said in an "AHH-AHH" silly voice). But I had a bite or two of dark chocolate. One of the pieces I ate was from Dove and the inside of the little aluminum square said, "Take a deep breath & exhale." I actually took a few deep breaths, as far as my lungs would stretch, and exhaled. Later, I took a corner of a salted dark chocolate bar, thinking that, since my sister really likes it, I would enjoy it, too. I must admit that I was a little bit disappointed; it had an interesting texture and taste, but I think I like my dark chocolate smooth and plain, unless it has bits of orange in it.

I found out, after testing it, that my hot pot doesn't work anymore, which upsets me, especially because I move into a dorm room in two weeks. And, I like my tea! I thought that the outlet was dysfunctional, it's temperamental, but simply, my hot pot doesn't work. So, what will I do? Bah. I don't want to withhold myself tea because I'll have to boil water another way. Isn't it ridiculous that I don't want to use the microwave or stove to boil water? Spoiled. "I will make my hot water in a hot pot only!"