Who am I?

  Well, I have thought about making a blog for a while, so I guess I will start now. I mean, the thought was not on my mind continuously - it came and went. I have no idea what my motive is for doing this, or what I can achieve from it, but hopefully, it will be well worth it. I just looked at a link to Blogger, and here I am. An expectation would be, to perhaps stick to this blog. I usually procrastinate horribly. . .

  I just threw myself in here, though. No preparation, no research about tips that might be of help to write this blog. So, I may not be the best blogger in the world! What are some things in my life that seem so interesting to be blogging about it? (It feels weird using "blogger" lingo!) What would people want to read? Is it even for the readers? No, right? It's about me, I suppose. . . It's nice to think that somewhere, someone is reading and enjoying what I type, I suppose. . . But that doesn't matter, does it? Not to me, particularly. . .

  Well, because this is my first blog, I guess I provide a little introduction. I am a sixteen year old junior in high school. I like to learn random skills - skateboarding, "Brooklyn" handball, juggling, and the sorts. Ambidexterity is a goal of mine, and I am constantly hunting for ways to improve my left hand's motor functions. My average in school is ~75. I feel the need to address that grade, so I will.

  One of my favorite excuses is to blame it all on my sleeping problems. Another is that my overbearing, immature, and unintelligent mother creates an environment that does not allow me to fully commit myself to school. Those are trifles I childishly blame it on. However. . . I am actually unmotivated and lazy and I arrogantly believe that I will get places in life just because of how intelligent I am. I believe that as long as I ace those tests, as long as I know more, everything will be fine. I will never have to put in a lick of work; I can put it off and do other things as I please. My subconscious always tells me to try - "Idiot!". But. . . for some reason, I refuse. I don't know why.

  I believe one of the goals of writing this blog is that maybe I will cure myself of this disease. I've read innumerable amounts of Google search links with no real fruition. That's another lie I like to tell, that I actually try to solve this problem. Well, I guess it's not so much a lie now. . . I am writing this post, aren't I? I'm being as truthful as possible, I'm letting my innermost thoughts pour onto this white box. This is a step in the right direction. This may seem like a plea for help - maybe it is. I want to try to help myself though.

  I actually do, hate, being this way.