Author of my own tragedies

It's woeful knowing that every pain I am experiencing now is largely self-inflicted. I'm tired- I didn't get enough sleep. And the reason I didn't get enough sleep is because I was up late doing my work. The reason I had to rush work at the last minute? Well because I spent all my other time watching Game of Thrones.

So it's 1am and my assignment--- I would call it barely started. I'm going to hand in such a scrappy little thing tomorrow it won't be funny. I'm frustrated to the point where I want to physically injure something- I guess it's good that there's no one here for me to rightly abuse. I don't want to do any work. I don't want to do fucking anything. I just want to lie in bed, go to sleep, and tell my assignment to go fuck itself.

You know what, I feel as if I should've gone drinking tonight. Not that I drink often or even enjoy the act of drinking, but I feel like I should've gone out tonight. Just to get some alcohol in me. I accused my friend of being an alcoholic when he suggested that I go out and get trashed- but now alcohol just seems more and more tempting. Not that I want to get trashed, but I wouldn't mind a drink or two right now. Even if the only benefit to alcohol I know of is in killing bacteria.

Sometimes I wonder; if I wrote a book about my whimsical worries, what genre would it fall under? Autobiographical? Titled "The Miseries of My Life". I used to imagine that I was the protagonist in someone's novel, and that I would never die, I could have a few close scrapes but I'd turn out alright. Everything is just an adventure, and all my troubles just go away. Then I came to the realisation that I am literally the author of my own story, but it's not nearly as exciting as it sounds.

For who would want to be the author of their own tragedies?

Life is Tragic

So today I had school; weather was lovely--- and by lovely I mean I walked to school in black pants and a black shirt without getting drenched in my own sweat. It was suuuch a sweet feeling, you have no idea. Class was good: for once I came prepared and did most of my work, so when discussion ensued I actually knew what we were talking about. Then I went out for practical work and established that I was actually okay at most things.

Anyway, I get driven home in the car of one of my new friends (I now consider myself to have four new "friends", and at least another 4 on decent speaking terms), and it's all fine and dandy. A long day has passed, and I have one assignment left and I don't need to freak the fuck out. I go to the backyard to take in the washing which I left out since yesterday morning (because it rained yesterday afternoon so I just left it hanging), and then I realise my clothes are kind of gross (even though it's dry) and should probably be re-washed.

As I take each item of clothing down, I noticed something--- my underwear was covered in bird shit. I mean, of allllll fucking things, my underwear got shat on. COME ON. Even I don't shit in my own underwear, and a bird does? Like, what the fuuuuck?


And the most tragic thing is, my initial reaction was "I wonder if I can contract avian influenza from this"

The Sad Sad Truth

I feel my internal stress rising once again, as it had last year. Then I realised something: nothing's really changed that much. Okay, so I'm physically distanced from parents I can no longer stand. Except they call me at least twice a week for 30min each time. At times it frustrates me to the point where I just want to hang up abruptly. I still remember, when I answered the phone, as soon as I heard the voice--- my body responded on its own, and I became vastly irritated.

Gah, let's not think about those things now. I have work due. I have so much fucking work due it's not funny. If I don't do a substantial amount tonight, it will be a mad rush post-midnight finish tomorrow. And I don't think I can stand it any more. For two years I've slowly adjusted to surviving on minimal sleep of 6ish hours, and working my assignments til late night because I just didn't have the time. Now I have time. I have plenty of time. I've just decided I'd rather binge on watching TV shows instead. I've finished 4 seasons of The Big Bang Theory and I started How I Met Your Mother but I decided I didn't really like it. Now I'm watching the Game of Thrones and it has me absolutely hooked. The acting is so wonderful, it's quite astounding.

Not that I have peace of mind to enjoy the good acting. I'm being slowly crushed by the pressure presented. I always thought the deal was that I would suffer through 2 years of college; supposedly the most stressful 2 years of my life. And it was stressful, no doubt, but I had immense fun in the second year, so the stress became bearable. Now, throw me into university, expect me to work at the same level as I did in college--- and it's just not going to happen. I've done it already. I've survived two hard and long years, minimal sleep, minimal happiness, borderline depression. I am not going to be like that for the next five years, also. I may have the stress capacity to manage it--- but I don't want to.

It's so sad realising that the deal was never "two years of suffering and then happily ever after". It's two years of suffering, then you're out in the open, and life is as shit or as good as you make it. I guess I could always try to be happier...

I was just always under the impression that happiness came as a graduation present...

Me; Explorer

I went out for a walk, because staying in the house all day is well and truly suffocating. Having moved to a new town, this is actually the first time I've gone out for a leisurely walk. I must say, the routes were not nearly as scenic as my old ones, with neat laid out paths, tall reeds and little ponds with ducks in them. I walk down the street- and there were no paths, only the road which looks like it needs to be repaired and the front lawn of local residents. So I casually stomp across the badly-tended lawns, for fear of getting run over by reckless drivers which seem to populate this town.

I got to the end of the street I live, and walk about 10 steps before I realize that there was a cemetery across the road. It was a not a large cemetery; the fences looked more decorative than protective. I guess it's lucky that there doesn't seem to be many rabbits around. I walk in casually because there was no gate and no obvious enclosure except for the decorative fence which only stretched about 100 meters. I don't know what prompted me to visit a cemetery on a leisurely walk.

Now that I think about it, there was a cemetery quite close to where I used to live before, too. It was further away but still within walking distance, and I drove past it almost every day. Maybe I just have an affinity for these things...

Anyway, I walked into the cemetery, and it was actually quite a pretty sight, if you overlooked what the neat little marble stones represented. The Sun was warm and orange, so it cast pretty lights across the slopes the cemetery was built on. I spotted a little cottage a bit further into the cemetery, and for a moment I understood why anyone would want to live there.

After that I just kinda left the cemetery and walked around the suburb aimlessly. It wasn't very exciting, now that I think about it. In the end it makes no sense- I can't believe I walked into a cemetery for no good reason, other than it was "pretty" and I wanted to take a look. I feel like a 5 year old...

And thus concludes my recount of my adventures today.

Reasons I Realise I'm In Med