Who am I?

I sit here, staring at the blank page before me, and at times, I feel that it is laughing at me. I want to laugh back, wittily tell it who I am (who am I?), but somehow that is not as simple when I do not know the answer myself. Part of me does not believe that a person can be defined so neatly on a piece of printer paper, or even on a hundred. But, seeing as I cannot seal myself into an envelope (although that would be a creative response), I shall do my very best.
I am a seventeen year old, and I both fear and hope that I am normal at that. My worst transgressions are making random, obnoxious comments in class, and my greatest achievements are making random, witty comments in class. My attempts at the latt...