Am I not a tad weird? My life takes place on paper. The sun is shining and I draw people enjoying it outside, in my rather dark room, occasionally looking up and through the window, instead of just going there. When I want to talk to someone, I pick up a sheet and a pen and write down everthing I want to say, and then I throw it away. I wonder how large the pile of sheets like that would be if I kept them. A person made of paper, that's what I am.