anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

dear faithful departed.

Keep smiling, even in the face of some certain academic death. Yep, that's the way to go.

I wonder why I don't face up to cold, hard facts, why I keep delaying things and running away from responsibilities, putting off what I ought to do and then panicking when I realise I don't have much time left to do them. The whole studying thing. I want to do it, but I don't want to do it, and so I don't do it, because I make myself think I can't, when in fact I know I can. It's a pain in the ass, for sure, and please, no [private joke deleted] jokes.

I miss talking to a lot of people and seeing them in school. It used to be such a given that I took it completely for granted, and now that I haven't seen my friends ever since...I don't know, a couple of weeks back, I realise that I really miss them a lot. It's sad that we don't study together. It's tragic that I can't study anyway.

I'm jumping onboard the academic train heading directly for the sealed exit at the end of the tunnel at top speed. Wanna come with?

The newest episode of Veronica Mars was nothing less than absolutely heart-breaking. I love Logan, I love Veronica, I love Logan/Veronica, and I still love Veronica because a part of me can relate. The intensity of his feelings is scary. But I don't think that's where her issues stem from.

I feel like having a drink right now. That is, something other than coffee. The world looks different when alcohol is messing with your head.

I'm afraid of a lot of things; but, that's not new. What should be new is the way I choose to deal with them. Being pretty (relatively or otherwise) isn't all it's cracked out to be. You wonder if guys want to go out with you only because they think you're pretty, and when they get to know you, your faults and flaws and imperfections, the initial myth is shattered beyond recognition and they drop you instantly because you're not worth the effort needed to put back the pieces. I may not care about a lot of things, I may give the impression that I don't care about anything, but something at the back of my mind incessantly asks the question, "What makes you think you're even fucking good enough?" And it's horrible, knowing that someone likes you only because of your looks, not because of anything that you are. I think I did that to the first boyfriend and I wish "I was 16" is good enough an excuse. Maybe that's my biggest insecurity, the fear that I'm nothing more to another person than just a face, and truth be told, sometimes I can't even stand to look at myself. I've always been superficial when it comes to guys, but when push comes to shove, I won't be with someone purely because he's good-looking, not anymore. And so, I don't know, I was reading some of my older entries and thinking about things that happened before and suddenly the thought came to mind, about how guys only want to go out with me because they think I'm pretty, all that retarded bullshit, and to be honest I don't know why I'm writing about this at all, maybe I'm just procrastinating again, but all the same, "the person you love and the person that loves you are never, ever the same person". You know, Chuck Palahniuk's brand of self-destructive existentialism. Well. I think there's a lesson to be learnt there. Confidence is an asset, a given, to me it's a privilege. God, what is wrong with me tonight.

I still want to get drunk one of these days. Preferably in private, by myself, so that no one would bear the burden of seeing me all unglam and disgusting.

I'm so tired of trying to make myself study. I read Mel's blog and Khai's LJ and all I want to do is to write a Lit essay. Write breath-takingly beautiful sentences in response to devastatingly beautiful prose and poetry, works by great authors that speak the cold, hard truth about life and love and all the things to which you can never place a numerical value. I think of what I gave up and what I got in return and I think it's the biggest tragedy of my life. It's sad, the way things never seem to work out, the way things don't work out, don't go as planned, the way things somehow find a hidden path to take and lead you astray. I've been defined by one thing my entire life, and now...I don't even know. I don't. It's this and that, you know, everything and nothing, and I don't know what fucking bullshit stream of consciousness I'm typing but I'm so tired of trying to study and writing dry, pedantic, monotonous answers to law school exams that don't bear the slightest resemblance to anything I love writing, and I'm so tired of waiting for everything to end so that I can start my new beginning. I don't fucking know at all. All I have right now is an agreement to look for an entrance upon the occurrence of a contingency. A future event. How vague and nebulous.

You see, it's always a lot better to burn out than to fade away.

I have to study.

Tags: angst, dating, exams, first boyfriend, guys, law school, literature, personal, veronica mars, writing

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