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Crush enemies, abandon hope, and unleash endless waves of unrepentant sarcasm. |
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There's nothing to see here that's really out of the ordinary. Nothing really terribly interesting either, unless you like griping, gossip, grudges, and possible mental illness. If anything it's some small way to keep myself writing (though you'll see by the dates on the entries that it's by no means an effective way), as well as a means through which I can vent about any number of things that are pissing me off. Occasionally there's pie. Look: I'm not a normal person. I'm suffering from untreated depression and plagued by increasingly frequent migraines that pretty much render me bedridden for days. I've suffered a lifetime of abuse and neglect, and still have to struggle with unfathomable depths of low self-worth, not to mention the eating disorders. I'm a weirdo, a freak, an aberration of nature and human experience . . . but it doesn't make me interesting. So, you can read this if you want. I've got some social commentary that might be a little fun, and occasionally throw in a poem or two, but for the most part it's the ramblings of a stricken mind. Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain; she's just trying to change her dress. |
| My room has been invaded by house centipedes. |
| I am only stopping by to say, Look at me! I'm awake at 7:35 to go to the Renaissance Faire! |
| Seriously, why? What the hell is wrong with me? I can't bother to read my chapters, even with two very important tests looming over me. I just want to stop feeling restless and get my work done. At least give me the strength to work out. Seriously, I'm too fat. I need to loose six inches from my thighs. I hate my body so much. I hate my body, my mind, and my life. Okay, there's some evening angst for you. |
| I know that it has been an eternity since I last added some new material to my port. Then again, it's been a while since I set cyber-foot on this website, so I suppose it's not a shock to anyone. However, I have decided to work on a number of fragments of verse I have scribbled down in the attempt to turn them into actual works of art. The good news is that there's a lot of them, so I'll have at last a good amount of new items to look at. The bad news is that most of them are graphic, and dark, and totally unsuitable for children or adults with a low tolerance for depressing imagery. I'll have to make a new folder for these poems, complete with an advisory to any who might stumble in there unaware of the disturbing nature of these works. I'm probably going to get a lot of hate-mail about them from people who feel that, "This is so GLOOMY! You totally made my day suck!" or "Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you, you sick little monkey?!" or "Get some help NOW because you need to see a therapist and be heavily medicated," or "Have you let the power of Christ into your heart yet?" or worse yet, "I cut myself, too. Do you wanna blow me now?" You can see there that I don't have much faith in this community anymore. Half the people in chat are dumb little teenagers using the anonymity of the Internet as a means to say dirty things without repercussions, there's Twilight whores everywhere I look, and sometimes it feels like I'm one of the last eight people on this site who actually proofread their items. But, prove me wrong: go to my new poetry folder of doom, once it's up and running, and look at my work in a mature and thoughtful manner. Make me feel that artists still exist on this site. Maybe then I'll feel better about coming here. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| Today's color is green, for victory. So after all that crazy studying, the nights spent staring at Blackboard and flipping through Freud, have paid off. I have gotten the results back from my exams in Mind, Myth, and Magic, and Culture in Comparitive Perspectives. And they were gooooood. For some reason, Professor Arendt graded us on a scale of 105, rather than the standrd one hundred. Therefore, I've had to do some nifty cross-multiplication to figure out my true grade. With my 95 out of 105, I have received a grade of just over 90%. So, it's a borderline A. Not as good as I had hoped, but still very good. I got a 23 out of 25 on the essay portion, which makes me happy. Now, for Mantz's class, I only missed one question, and it was the one I knew that I would get wrong no matter what I chose. Oddly enough, it was a true or false. But yay, I got a 98! Now all I have to do is read my ass off this weekend so that I can go to my Archaeology and Immigration exams ready to perform at the same level. They are both on Wednesday (weep) but I have Monday off (hooray!). Wish me luck! |
| And I have written only ONE effing body paragraph for my paper. Now granted, I only need two more pages for this to be full-length, but jeeze! I'm supposed to be GOOD at essays! Now I can't focus long enough to remember what the hell I'm writing about. I don't think I'm sleeping tonight . . . |
| Ugh . . . I do not feel like writing an essay right now. I don't feel like writing, or reading, or anything else. I just want to game. I know I need to get to work, but I'm just not motivated. I suppose that is normal for someone my age, but I wish I had the self-control to just do what needs to be done and get the work out of the way. This paper is three to four pages long. It's not too much to ask. So why is it taking me all day to muster the interest to write my first argument? I finished watching Bad Taste today, and I have to admit that Peter Jackson is one fucked-up human being. I don't mean that in a negative way, either. The movie is really cheap and the story is rather jumpy and haphazard, but it's still interesting and funny, in a sick way. It takes a special kind of person to come up with that crazy shit, and Peter Jackson is VERY special. Ugh, I don't want to write this paper. I got nothing, absolutely nothing. But, I must try. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie.
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| Whooooo! I'm writing this enbtry on my new laptop computer! The going is a little bit slower, as I am still getting used to this keyboard with its tightly-spaced keys and new positioning for the arrow keys and "Insert" and so forth. Typing on a flat keyboard with long, pointy nails does not seem to be as difficult as I had feared. I will probably have to watch their length a bit more closely, just to make sure that they do not become a problem, but otherwise it isn't so bad. The worst part is just where the keys are; I'm so used to the layout on my desktop's board that it's hard to adjust to the new layout. BUT! I shall overcome! I have this awful weakness in my right thigh. Maybe it's from the jumping-jacks---I did one hundred just ten minutes ago. I'm sure it won't have any impact on my waistline, though. But my leg feels weak, I'm slightly sick to my stomach, and my head hurts ever so slightly. But hey, I'm typing on a laptop! From my bed! And I'm in a single room so my decision to stay up until almost three AM reading has no effect on any other person whatsoever! Man, this is annoying. My fingers keep grazing the other keys. This will take some getting used to . . . |
| Soooo, I'm back on campus, back with people I carw about, and feeling less depressed pretty much all over. Things still leave much to be desired, but we're working on it. I came up with a number of good new story ideas. I don't know how likeky I will be to try and start any of them, but I've got some outlines down and maybe I can find the courage to build on them. Well, that's about all I have to say at this time. I'll return! |
| All I want to do is feel okay with being alive. I want to have the motivation to get up in the morning and do the things that I need to do. But I don't. I don't even want to get out of bed. I have no visceral desire to live, to be alive. I know I should want to keep living, and my sensible side keeps goading me to get out, get my work done, be happy and work hard so I can achieve the things I want; I tell myself this, but my mind is so set in focusing on the nothingness that I can't feel anything else. All I think about is what I would do, should do, if only I had the motivation, but when none is forthcoming I go right back to where I've been all my life: the conviction that it's hopeless and I just need to kill myself, right now. Yeah, it's crazy and it's stupid. I'm at a place in my life where I'm actually halfway good at something (I think), and could become someone of some slight importance to the academic world. I've got all these things that I want to research: cults, the history of sin, criminology, the hidden nastiness inherent in various cultures, the devil, the concept of evil, so fucking much that I have to live for, to investigate, and for once I know I WANT to live, but I still want nothing else than to just die already. I only wish I knew where to place the barrel. I want no chance of screwing it up. I don't think I will ever be happy. Ever. My mind has seen to that. I find more things wrong with my appearance, and I feel more monstrous as the days pass. I was happy when I couldn't find a job, because then I wouldn't have to be in a position where people would see me and hear my voice. I'm becoming more and more of a shut-in. I haven't spoken to Phil in ages, poor guy, and I never return phone calls or reply to messages, yet I freak out when people don't reply to me. I'm increasingly paranoid and anxious, to the point where I STILL have not filled out my loan application, just because I'm too worried about being rejected! Dammit, I need to feel HUMAN. I need to feel ALIVE. My brain decided it was time to die, so it left and now I'm here all alone to deal with the world and feeling like there's no point in anything. God . . . maybe I should just let myself die. I'm too broken to operate. |
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