Memoirs of the Bohemian
Starring Me, the Bohemian

The fourth line of the 18th page of the book nearest me says: "writing self-esteem could use a boost." How did they know?

If I stretch my left arm out as far as I can then I can touch air and dust particles. Maybe I'm even touching my Guardian Angel if I could actually see him...her...it? 

Before I started writing this memoir, I was texting my friend about starting a monopoly on cigarettes at my local college because I need money for hypnotherapy sessions.

The last thing I watched on TV was porn.
Just kidding. I glanced at the TV while my dad was watching football. You know, large sweaty guys getting all up on each other. Seriously, all those tackles look like sex positions. If you're ever looking for new inspiration in the bedroom, watch football.

I'm guessing it's 10:00 right now? 

Hey, I just checked, and it's actually 10:44. I was close enough, though to be honest I'm kind of avoiding looking at the clock right now because I'm procrastinating on this huge college paper due tomorrow. Yay.

With the exception of the computer, I can hear my mom washing dishes in the kitchen. How sexist.

The last time I stepped outside was to get in my mom's car after a dinner at the golf course with my parents and three of their friends.

I did dream last night, but I can't remember what it was now.

Usually, though, I do remember my dreams.

I last laughed...a few minutes ago? Laughing's kind of my thing. That's how I keep the fat off my tummy.

However, I do not fully remember what it was I was laughing at before. Probably a text from my boyfriend. He's sexy.

The walls of the room I'm in are covered in green paint, an inspirational poster with butterflies on it, oriental decorations, a calendar from my dad's work, a portable whiteboard, and various notes taped above my desk full of words with inspiration.

Let's see. The weirdest thing I've seen lately happened in my dream. Just remembered it.

*Fin*