Prolouge

Since this isn't actually a story, I know this isn't a prolouge in the truest sences of the word but I suppose you'll just have to forgive me and if there are any English Majors out there that are incredibly insulted, they'll just have to live with it. After all this is my blog, so I can write whatever I want.

First of all I think I might as well say right now that my real name isn't Cecilia. I don't know if anyone really cares about that, but since anyone could read this (even if I have site-traffic of, well me) I thought it would be safest to use pseudonyms for anyone I mention by name. I mean I'm sure that it might be possible that they figure out who everyone is, but there's no need for me to piss off everyone who might be mentioned in this.

As I said yesterday, my childhood is nothing that would be very interesting to read about. To quote a book I've never actually read, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way" (Tolstoy: Anna Karenina). Overall, my family is happy, and while that led to a good childhood, it makes bad story telling. If Tolstoy is to be believed, I personally think it's because happiness is much more elusive than unhappiness. And there's only so many ways to be happy, you can always be unhappy about any number of things.

Anyway, before I bore any possible readers that have by philosophizing about happiness I suppose I'll get back on track. I made it through grade school with little drama. I had a group of friends that overall didn't proscribe to teenage drama. None of us really dated, none of us really fought within our little circle. Like I said, boring.
College brought a whole new level of drama into my life.
-Lia