My days went well usually filled with friends and laughter and little bits of gossip. On there own they were fine, little ordinary glimpses into a life. But each day was more or less the same, and when I strung together the days that passed they formed nothing. Nothing that resembled a plot, or even a simple story.  In fact my entire life just seemed like the part at the very beginning of a novel, the part where you meet the protagonist, nothing interesting has happened to her yet, nothing really worth reading about, but you know the story will get there, you read the back cover of the book afterall. Who would buy a novel on the premise of the first chapter? But i dont have much choice to do otherwise, I can't read the cliffhanger synopsis on the back of my life, as much as I might sometimes want to. All I can do is trust that my life will suddenly become an unexpected whirlwind of excitment without me having to lift a finger. Now is that so very much to ask?