Do you remember those poems you'd have to write about yourself in third grade? Your name at the top, three words describing you in the next line and so on? I'm not going to do that for you. Because everyone did that... in third grade. "You're beating around the bush!" You might say, if you're a gardener with very poor eyesight. Or, "Why don't you pretend Ryan Seacrest is interviewing you, that could make it easier." It would, if your little sister's idol isn't Ryan Seacrest and she isn't constantly shoving a microphone or a shovel-supposed-to-be-a-microphone into your face constantly. "You still haven't told me a thing about yourself!" you might add. 

That's a good question, that wasn't a question. 

My name is Amber, I'm lost in my head, because in general, I think a lot. And I mean A LOT. I'm more in my own head than I am talking to other people, which in its own way, is kind of sad. It doesn't bother me, because I go on my own adventures, planning exquisite trips in which Hagrid bursts down my hotel door to tell me I'm a witch, or I'm on a bullet train and Peeta looks out the window to wave at the people of the Capitol then turns to me and says, "One of them might be rich.", or even look down from my window and see my one true love look at me in the moon-lit night and say to me, "But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks?" and continue in this nonsensical language that I can't understand. 

I have something else to tell you, too. I'm not very good at biographies.