I'm not sure whether or not I want to actually post this. I'm afraid that people will see me differently than they do now. I don't want that. Or maybe I do. I'm still just trying to figure out who I am as a person and people expect me to be applying for college and leave everything for 2 years and get good grades and keep a job and be kind to everyone and I just don't feel there is enough time for everything. I don't want this to sound like I'm revealing my pen name, but here goes nothing. My name is Tanner Johanson. I was almost named Dylan, but my parents decided to switch at the last second. I've always been quiet until you get to know me. I don't have very much self confidence, but I barely make it by with what I got. I feel more pressure than is needed. I don't like school, but I tell people to go there and learn as much as possible. I tutor, yet I don't do my own homework. My actions and words are pretty hypocritical and I hate that
Here we are again. New semester, new classes, new teachers. Same faces. And with only a semester of school left, this will be it. No more new classes. No posting schedules on Instagram or Facebook with the caption of "Any classes anyone???" This is it. For all the Dallin Ferrels, Jake Ervings, and Ben Clarks. It's time to fight on and reach our peak. Or so we have been told for the last three years of our lives. And for the first two years, I have just been getting by. I do not know what would have happened if I hadn't taken Mr. Nelson's class in 10th grade. That class was where I felt alive in one of the deadest places in all of Utah valley from 7:45 to 2:15 on Mondays to Fridays. If I hadn't taken that class, I probably wouldn't have been in Creative Writing and not have been in this class. If I were to map out my high school life for you all, you all would see things that may make some of you cry. But then again, maybe not. I was never a football or
I'm just an insane human trying to find my Paris. The place I can just call paradise. I tried going to New York , but it's too dirty and noisy. I tried going to To k y o , but I couldn't find any inspiration. I tried going to London , but there were too many tourists. I ended up on a train to Berlin , but I realized I won't be there for a while because there is a stop in Paris . I decided that I should get off and look around Paris. There was a kind man named Harold Miner that I ran into and he wanted to show me around. The scenery was beautiful, the coffee shops were warm and inviting, and I felt different than I had ever felt in my life. So I decided to stay. I used the rest of my money and found a nice little apartment to stay in. I became friends with the coffee shop owner and he would supply me with food and drink until I was able to get going with my money. I want to stay in this place. I want to stay somewhere that I can live and write and be my
That death one is too good.
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