After I read essays (or any sort of literature) that deal with improving one's writing, I find that my writing either improves slightly for a short period of time or becomes somewhat stilted and stiff. Both results occur because I think more about how I write after reading about it.

Last night, for my English class, I read essays about "the writing process" and "finding the right words." Having said this, I apologize in advance for any pretentious wording or awkward sentence structure.

Today, it is cold and foggy in San Francisco. I know this because I can look out of my dorm room window and see that it is gray out there around the little, familiar skyline on the horizon. Here, however, it is sunny and warm. It isn't summery, but I'm comfortable without a sweater. I wore thong sandals to class today.

I sort of wrote about this last summer, but it can't be said enough. What did I do to deserve to live somewhere like this? People come from all over the world to be in California, and just because my grandparents had the initiative to come here, I get to grow up here.

On a side note, we had an earthquake last week. It was pretty rad. My campus is located right on the Hayward fault, so earthquakes are to be expected. People keep saying The Big One is coming, but they've been saying that for years now.

California seems to have lucked out. There have not been any major natural disasters in a long time... Maybe it's just that I've only been alive for twenty years and have no perspective on the matter.

Grama says there was a tsunami when she was a teenager. That sounds pretty significant.

It's nice to write something rambly for a change.