Dear diary,

You just had to fall back into my life, didn't you? Literally fall into my life by falling off the bookshelf and hitting me right on the head. Thanks for hurting my head and making me yelp like a puppy, diary.

I can barely remember anything I've written in the past entries and I don't plan on reading them. I don't really like to think of the past. I like the present more.

Speaking of the present, I'll tell you what I'm doing right now. Wait... Tell you? If I speak to a diary instead of writing in it, I've probably lost my mind. Anyways, I'm sitting in a tree, writing in this diary. This is literally the only tree I've seen in the past hour of walking around. A long time ago, the people of Iceland cut down a lot of trees. Now, there are barely any trees.

It's pretty windy though. I'm a bit scared that I'll fall out of this tree. That would be painful. I'll climb down from this tree before I-