February 9, 2008 at 11:50 pm (being a girl, night, sadness)

Not being able to write is a pain in the ass. Especially when you are bursting to say something, or rant, and the whole idea of writing drives you nuts, it’s all a despicable state of affairs to have. I do NOT understand my mood swings. Yea, they’ve been around for a long, long time, but that hasn’t really helped my understanding of my quirky states-of-mind.

So life has been moving on(I just checked the date on my comp’s calendar) I had NO idea, whatsoever about what today’s date was. :O Guilt, guilt, guilt strikes me about all that I have messed up with school. Aaargh, I don’t like the idea of doing badly, this term as well. That aside, school is summat peaceful. It’s alright. Let’s hope it STAYS that way.

People are bugging. Nothing is as it seems. Now if one is inclined towards Le Logique (Even fraudulent French sounds romantic, Oui?) then, it is quite something to be fascinated by layers of reasoning. But but but, I do not like people with too many layers to their intentions, their speech and their actions-Evidently that is. WTF is the magique in it all when you are obviously smiling, when I didn’t even crack bleddy a joke? I’m disillusioned as ever. It feels like it has been AGES since people have been honest with me. It’s been a while since a genuine smile No! wait! A genuine anything has come my way. To make it all a little less cryptic to my own memory, when I read this later, this part of the rant-fest is suffixed with a Men Suck aphorism.

A very common sequence in most works of humour include some insecure person sticking onto a particular part of their past, not wanting to let go. Just like there is the middle aged woman, whose times of pinkish youth, gravity-defying feminity, are long gone, she turns up in a beach dress with garrulous make-up, never realising the fool she is taken for. Continuing in that line of thought, I feel like the kid that refuses point-blank to grow up. Yes, there have been times when it felt like life had dragged me out of my childhood and heaved me onto the cold, open street. I remember thinking, in bad times, that I wanted to stop being coldly logical about perspectives, and turn more human. I remember very well, resenting that stand almost as soon as I’d made it.

I hate hating the people I’ve loved all my life. I hate it when they behave insolently, when people display the maturity of juveniles when all I want is a wise person that can solve MY confusions. I don’t want to be 42 at 24. I don’t feel like most people my age. Until recently, that used to be a good thing.

I’m given to frequent outbursts these days. None that are relieving, as they are meant to be. Is it me or is it them?

These mood swings are so caustic, they don’t even let me read, or walk, or talk, or sleep. Hmmm music should help. Right! We shall try.



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