Yo, all. Nitrinoxus here. Feel free to ignore everything that follows, it's time you'll never get back.

Figured I should update this after noticing how out-of-date it was. Not much to really say, though: I'm still mostly the same writer I ever was, albeit with a lot less confidence in the value of the few skills I have -- life does a fantastic job of wearing away your reason for living, doesn't it?

I know most people would probably use this space to talk about how they've been doing art for years and years, and how they aspire to become a great artist known around the world, etcetera etcetera -- but I'm never going to amount to more than a hobbyist in anything I do, whether that's writing or my current academic dalliance with photography. There's no room in the world for another pathetic writer, and none of my other artistic skills amount to anything... so I guess my parents were right in telling me I'd never make it as a writer, huh? Suppose I should've changed my aspirations to 'McDonald's cheeseburger flipper' like my mom suggested for years.

...Anyway, never mind, it doesn't matter. Thanks for coming, sorry in advance for wasting your time here, and don't worry about being kind in the comments -- anything you say, I probably deserve.

Ciao, all.