anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

blah, blah, and blah.

Legal Case Studies sounds like a load of crap and who the hell expects a perfectly normal person to pay attention for three hours? It's like LAWR, Revisited. And we all know how much LAWR sucked.

This is based purely on the brief course description available on IVLE. The lecture is tomorrow and I'm tempted not to go 'cause I'd much rather spend my Wednesday morning sleeping, thank you very much, but things need to be done so just grin and bear it.

You know, I'm beginning to think that the whole 'grin and bear it' thing is quite a useful principle to subscribe to. Because, let's face it, nobody wants to hear you whine about your shitty life and how much you hate school and how fucking broke you are and how much it sucks that you have no money to go shopping, and similarly, you don't exactly enjoy listening to other people whine and bitch about how their girlfriends aren't giving them any and how they can't get it up in bed and how the girl they like is, like, totally freezing them out, whatever. So, you know, to save everyone a hell lot of grief and irritation, just shut the hell up and grin and bear it. It'd make you a much stronger person at the end of everything.

I used to keep everything bottled up inside, way back in secondary school, maybe even in JC - except I didn't have much to bitch and moan about get off my chest in JC, because the angsty shit happened in secondary school. And I thought keeping everything to myself was a totally Swell! way to deal with all the nasty crap that got thrown my way. And I thought I thought (repetition intended) differently now, in the sense that I thought that talking about your problems would help make things less confusing.

But you know what? That's a huge crock of shit too. Talking is self-gratuitous. It's selfish. It makes the other person feel obliged to listen to you when he/she may be more interested in doing other, worthier things, like, I don't know, watching a movie or whatever. Even worse, it causes the listener to feel obliged, even duty-bound, to solve your ridiculous-ass problems for you, even if your stupid-ass problems are completely retarded. Because most of the time you're just being a whiny-ass bitch, period. That's all there is to it. And at times like these, all I can say is, Get a hold of yourself, you moron, and just get over yourself.

It's funny how we're all so capable of making everything about us. It's exactly like what Keith said to Don Lamb (who's seriously hot, by the way) in the penultimate Season 2 episode of Veronica Mars: "Is your ego really that enormous that you can take the deaths of eight people and make it about you?"

Some of us do have such enormous egos. Is 'egos' even a word? Well, grammatical uncertainty aside, I'm sure my point is clear.

Talking doesn't make things less confusing; you only think it does because you're too weak to deal with your crap on your own, and so you open your mouth and out comes words you didn't originally want to say and when everything's out in the open you regret it 'cause you've said too much, and then, WHAM, the initial confusion snowballs into a fucking conundrum. Good going, you! Such a total genius.

In conclusion, therefore, I put forth to you the proposal that, instead of indulging in needless venting sessions with people who have better things to do with their time (since we're all so busy and perpetually in a hurry just to keep up with the pace of this bustling cosmopolitan city, blah blah cliched bullshit that hardly applies to this country), we should all just grin and bear it. Thank you.


I just realised that "I put forth to you" is 1) probably ungrammatical; and 2) way too similar to that 'put question' thing we did in Trial Advocacy. And #2 scares me to death.

Then again, I think the fact that I don't know if it's grammatically sound is a worse fate than subconsciously letting legal languge barge its way into my precious vocabulary. I don't like to mix work and pleasure, thank you very much. Some things are meant to be kept sacred; my command of the English language is on the top of the list. In fact? It's imperative that I never succumb to legal jargon and legal language, ever, nevermind that it's happened many times before. But hey, bad habits can be changed when they're detected early, so there's still hope for me yet.


My new EDC jeans, bought a month ago or so, worn three times so far, needs hiking up, too. I'm completely distraught by the very IDEA that the new jeans I bought won't fit me in the near future.

I want to stop getting skinnier but I don't know how. I look at myself naked in the mirror and I get totally freaked out. My ribcage has never been so fucking obvious, my shoulderblades are jutting out, and...I'm like, nearly skeletal. And the worst part? The objective I wanted to achieve when I started this stupid thing has NOT been achieved. The tummy is still there, mocking my failure to get rid of it, every single time I take a shower, wake up and take a piss, whatever. ARGH. What the hell.

Weird as it may be, but the thought of buying size 34 jeans scares the shit out of me. I don't think skinny is sexy; it's...emaciated, anorexic, unhealthy. Even 'thin' has negative connotations of its own, similar to 'skinny', perhaps worse, depending on what floats your boat. I wanted 'slim'. Now I'm stuck with 'skinny with a fucking tummy'.

Seriously. Can I just die? Please? I can't take this cruel joke without the slightest semblance to a punchline that's my life anymore.

Also, while we're on the subject of my appearance, I'm officially irritated with my bangs. It keeps getting into my eyes and it keeps parting in the centre. What the hell. I look ridiculously young, too. Mag and I wanted to have martini at Morton's today but apparently they have an age limit and knowing how I look, I didn't even bother to try to see if we could pass off as 21. I mean, we're turning 21 this year, but that's, like, in 7 months' time for me and 8 for her, so, yeah. Life sucks.

I've never tried a martini before, by the way. And horrifyingly, I seem to like Hoegarden quite a bit. Oh, kill me please. Have I mentioned that I'd choose gin over whiskey anytime, anyday?

Having said that, I think alcohol is extremely useful to combat insomnia, to shut off the brains at 2 a.m. so that you can have a good night's sleep. I don't, however, believe in drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I guess the thought is rather tempting since they do it all the time in movies and TV shows, typical and hackneyed situations where some guy goes to a bar, all depressed and shit, and gets picked up by some random hot chick and they make out and whatever, or finds a friendly listening ear in the bartender; but when push comes to shove, I think I really wouldn't want to get tipsy all by myself in a public place because it's just way too embarrassing, and dangerous too, I guess, though I don't care too much about that. I haven't got tipsy to the point where I can't walk in a straight line, let alone got completely pissed, but just getting red in the face? Completely embarrassing. And for me, it's even more obvious 'cause my skin's kinda pale and everything so the red shows even more.

Ergo, I only drink when I'm with people I trust, or when I'm at home, or in my room, whatever. And even then I don't drink more than a cocktail, because cocktails are bloody expensive and I'm a very, very poor girl. Like, dead broke, no kidding.

So broke that I couldn't buy a twenty-dollar tank top from Esprit today.

So broke that I couldn't watch a movie with Mag today.

So broke that I've never been happier paying $7 for lunch than I was today.

Well, all in all, I had a good time with Mag and Rui after school at Miss Clarity Cafe and then with Mag at Ben and Jerry's followed by Pacific Coffee Company or whatever. Pac Coffee is awesomeness. The coffee is subpar (I really prefer Starbucks; the latte at Pac isn't bitter enough) but the place is amazing. Comfortable and cosy. I could've fallen asleep on the couch this afternoon.

Good times.


I feel like time is running out. I feel like I'm wasting precious time by sitting around, waiting for things to happen. I feel like I should do more to make things happen, be proactive, stop holding myself back - especially when I'm concerned with things I care about.

It's like writing. It's the love of my life, and yet I'm not doing jack shit about it. Writing and I have this strange relationship: I love it to death, it seems to feel the same way about me, but it doesn't quite want to stay in a relationship with me. It doesn't think I'm adequate enough, it doesn't want to hurt me when it shows me how bloody bad I am at the craft, but I think Writing and I should just stick together and work through all these issues instead of taking the easy way out and running from them. Because it's not everyday you stumble upon and then realise that there is something you love, something you can't live without; something that defines you, keeps you rooted, invigorates you. It's one of those rare occurrences in life that come so suddenly and quickly that the only thing you can do is to go with the flow and hold on tight, because you don't know if you can find something even remotely close to what it means to you ever again. I can't imagine giving up on writing, ever. And I can't imagine what I'd do if writing decides to give up on me.

It's honestly time to start writing and stop writing completely worthless tripe. Confess your feelings, and then hope that it's enough.

Okay, so the relationship analogy I used is really bad, but I'm sure the point is made, albeit crudely and clumsily. Well, law school has murdered my writing skills, so it's so totally not my fault.

I need to shower. Can't be bothered with Public Law readings right now. I'm going to continue reading Arthur and George.

PS: I stopped listening in Trusts after 45 valiant minutes of valiantly trying to understand what Prof. BC was talking about. Tris can attest to my mental switch off. And I went to pee ten minutes before 11.30 and when I went back, class ended. Ha, ha, ha. I'm pleased that he ends 15 minutes before the stipulated...ending time. Yeah.

Tags: angst, drinking, hair, law school, neb, veronica mars, writing

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