I don’t know what I’m looking for. I only know as much about myself as my mind can work out under its current conditions. And its current conditions are not good. No, wait, I’ll tell you something. I freewheel a lot. I get an idea to do something and, hey, why not, I do it. I reckon I’ll become president of the galaxy, and it just happens, it’s easy. I decide to… I decide to… Oh, what am I kidding, I HATE THIS! I hate the fact that I’m alone. I hate the fact that I have to listen to my echo bounce back at me in this stupid, empty, unfinished, and possibly haunted home! Think I’m crazy, thinking this place is haunted? I don’t know. I may be. I feel like I hear a ghost everywhere. When I flush a toilet, I hear its moaning. When I turn on the stove, I hear its screaming. And when I turn on the sink, its cackling. It could just be me; just another one of those many noises or voices that only I hear. Then again, who knows; sometimes I want to hire those ghost hunters just to check. Back to the silence. I hate that I’m deserted here. All I want is someone who would patiently read the next word and get me back on track. Instead, I’m awkwardly sitting here, diminishing myself if I go to look at what I was supposed to say, and hurting myself wracking at my brain to remember. If you ask me, I’m a horrible friend to myself. I hate myself. I wish I could be walking- where? I don’t know where! Somewhere! – just walking and have a guy (or girl for any matter, though I find it difficult to get along with them…) just walk up t me and be nice to me. Now, knowing me, I’d just freak out thinking “Holy crap, this stranger’s going to stalk me!”, but I’d still be nice enough to talk to them. {Sigh} I hear the ghost again. SHOO! Anyways, though I’d be apprehensive I’d still be nice. And that stranger, that stranger would be the perfect friend.  The one that helps you when you need it, lives close enough to be available most of the time, and has a frickin’ sense of humor or is at least a little entertaining in some way. Though, I think we all know perfect doesn’t exist. I think we can all agree that the more you want your dream to come true, the less likely it’ll happen. I just… I just wish someone would save me. God, I sound so dramatic. Who am I, Juliet Capulet? “I love you, Romeo, though I’ve known you only for a day and you are my sworn enemy! Yes, I’ll totally marry you! And just to stick it to my parents even more, I’ll even have SEX with you and ruin my pure, adolescent, and even immature soul!” Why am I being so dramatic? It’s not like I’m dying in a collapsed building… No, just bored in a quiet, possibly-haunted, spider-infested “home”. {Sigh} I’m going to go to some deep, dark corner of the house and wait there until I see or hear any sign of human life. But what if it’s a robber? {Cringe}.