I got a review?

Granted, the review was from a (the only) follower of mine, but t'was a nice gesture indeed.
This anonymous blogger thanks yee kindly, Alicia.
This was not my intention, however, to be an anonymous blogger, so perhaps I shall share a bit of information about myself.
Unfortunately, the only relevant thing I can think of to say is, "Hi, my name's Marissa, and I enjoy writing.", which really isn't anything new.
I mean, you can find that information on my Profile, as well as a lovely picture of my thumb dressed up as a smiling cyclops-type thing. What more could you want?
All my personal information, you say?
No-no, Mr. Spam E-mail. I don't care if I've miraculously won the UK national lottery, and all I need to do is enter in my social security, date of birth, and credit card number. I was told to keep that information secret.
Besides, I'm an American citizen, and it makes little sense for me to have won the UK lottery.
Anyhow.
Perhaps I should just make a list of things that I enjoy...
Voyons...
Writing, reading, learning languages, watching movies, finding interesting music, talking to the Internet (not people on the Internet, mind you. Just the Internet.), having unhealthy obsessions with fictional characters, quoting various things, playing the bass, doodlin' stuff, making peculiar clay creations, baking things (burning things, rather.), and sleeping.
Those are in no particular order, mind you.
If I had to organize them from most-liked to least, sleeping would be much closer to the top of said list.
Anyway, one believes that one has shared enough personal information about oneself, so one shall bid you adieu.
Adieu, mes chous.

Sweet merciful crap!

I got a 97 on that Crucible essay!
Which is hard to believe, considering I only changed 2 sentences from the rough draft, on which I got a 91, but I am not one to argue with my english teacher's grading habits, especially not when they turn out well for a change.
So, now that that's all said and done, I can finally write something that isn't about my irony essay.
Or, rather, I would if I were remotely creative with my writing, but, alas, I am not.
All those years of sitting in front of the television whilst drinking beverages laced with articficial sugar and trace amounts of bug feces have rotted the creative, as well as most of the analytical, portions of my brain.
Which is indeed quite depressing.
However, I will continue to write despite my festering imagination because I've nothing better do to.
So. Lovely weather we're having lately, eh, Blog?
Oh. You wouldn't know? You say you live on the Internet?
Well, surely it's nice on the Internet as well...
No? You say that at night, when the spam blocker goes to sleep, you are incessantly tormented by pop-ups advertising natural male enhancement pills and mail-order brides from Russia?
Well, that's simply depressing, Blog. So depressing that I shall stop typing and maybe go outside for a change.
I bid you adieu for this evening, sweet Blog and Follower.
Au revoir.