AgentFrody

I sit atop my tree house in the middle of spring. My brother is shouting about cartwheels and how this was his first. Such things, of course, are beneath me. I live in a nice time. People shout with excitement and laugh. Meanwhile, i sit up here pretending to type and contemplating going down my fort and having fun. Such things, of course, are not yet beneath me at that level yet. I cannot believe i am even debating this other than to type a long list of things currently residing in such a thing as my mind. I feel saddened by this. Also, i feel cold as there are very few walls in this fort and the air is hitting me like a wall of ice. I am wearing short sleeves which only add to how miserable i am. My dad has now come outside and will undoubtedly see me and shout at me to stop being in my computer. Sigh, is an Onomatopoeia that describes a many different things. Sigh, is a good word to use here. But such words are dumb and unbecoming. So my time will come to an end as soon as my dad looks up. Until then, I type away and pretend i am doing things. One look is all it would take. He stubbornly refuses to look up. Now I'm hoping he will look up so that i have a proper excuse to stop typing. Maybe i should just wait and see… wait and see… Nope. Boring. I should come down but nope. I stubbornly refuse to allow myself to… Damn. My dad saw me. Thats that. BYE…..