What is the point of dating?
"Knowledge is a priceless treasure that you carry with you always." – Chinese Proverb.
Point of this entry, I realised money’s not worth it, and I’m up to date with my maths. Half of my work has been lifted off my chest. Now all that remains are four chem assignments, econs essay tomorrow, lit essay tm, chem test on Thursday and an Intro Calc test sooner or later. The religion test is also overdue, but nobody takes that seriously anyhoo. Oh, and I have two chapters of human biology that’s due on Monday, which I only found out about last night by asking Matsuto. My eternal gratitude.
Basically, work-trodden as I am, most of it will be done by Monday night. After Monday, I shall experience perhaps a week of freedom from homework and stress. It lifts my spirits.
I’m supposed to call the directors of Trinity and Mercedes to ask if they can unlock their music rooms for a piano lesson with Slawo tomorrow. It’s too much effort for me to organise all by myself. The festival is on Tuesday, and given that Perry and I practiced for some two-three hours consecutively yesterday, I think we might have a fair chance. Maybe I’ll play at Speech Night after all.
Just another rambling entry to empty my head- what women supposedly do. Not being sexist. *sigh* While I’m at it, I’m so sorry for every girl in this world who has to look pretty because they feel the need to. It’s not worth it, ladies. You’re all beautiful to me.
PS: Missing Bob, but ever since I found out people have pissed on him, all contact has been abolished.
For the first time in ten years, the 3rds hockey team has won a game. It was against Wesley, who were playing one man down (12:10, 11 are allowed on the field at once), and the final score was 1-0. Their coach is a legend- he was yelling at Krishnah to "Keep on that little Asian guy! He’s bloody good! He’s no pastry puff!" Hahaha we all agreed he had taken someone else’s pills by accident, because he was more of a commentator than a coach. There was not a single 5 second interval of silence throughout the game. We got some good chances, played well, and I got hit in the other knee. I say other, because at training on Thursday I took a ball to the right knee, today, another to the left. I’m going to have a bone broken sooner or later, I know it.
Well done Trinity. Well done indeed. I shall now lie down and not make a peep until I feel ready to walk again.
Is it wrong to say someone has a knack for being right? If everyone has a disagreement with my opinion on something, am I at fault, or are all of them?
I feel like sitting down with an inkpot and quill, writing by the light of a candle. Instead, here I am on this box that manages to drain an extra hour out of me every time I go on it. Go figure.
I need some reflection time. It’s necessary to developing self-identity. I sound like I’m an attention-seeker or a know-it-all poser. Despite this, I have forgotten who I am, and more importantly, who I want to be. I dearly wish that there was a meadow somewhere with a shady tree I could lean against. I would sit there with a notebook and a pen, and I would write all day long. However, lacking the meadow, tree and inspiration, I’ll just settle for not talking for a little while. Maybe I’ll learn something. Anti-talk time starts tomorrow morning. The less I talk, the more I listen. Always important when defining morals, as we learned in RE today. At least, I’m pretty sure I"m the only one in class who was working.
I’m digressing. All right. I will take a break and re-evaluate myself. I’m sure by morning I’ll have come up with answers. I need a weekend to fill with stories.
PS: I still wonder what it’s like to be blind. It sounds like something I would enjoy.
With love, always and endlessly,
Anyway, have you ever seen Dawn of the Dead? Terrible movie, what with all the shredding muscle and ripping chainsaws and super-zombies. Unless of course you’re into that sort of thing. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the basic storyline is this. Out of nowhere, a virus infects a small part of the world. Nobody knows where it came from, but they have some idea of what it does. It kills a person a few minutes after they’ve been bitten, then re-animates them to super-fast, super-strong, super-stupid zombies with only one instinct: Feed. They don’t have the brain capacity to do much more than run and bite, and the whole movie is about a band of survivors who barricade themselves in a mall, with all the supplies they’ll need for a few months, until they get help.
Last night, I had a nightmare. Exactly the same scenario as Dawn of the Dead, except Eugene and I were in a movie theatre instead, because that was the closest building we could find, and we didn’t want to run outside and look for a better alternative. It was night out, and those zombies could have been running loose.
For a few weeks, Eugene and I just spent our time watching movie after movie. My brain invented all the movies for me, but I think it got boring after a little while. I remember the entrance to the building was an automatic door, and every time you went near it, it opened. This was a bad thing, because I was never sure if there was a zombie outside because it was pitch black for everywhere but inside the cinema. I slept a few metres away from the door, for fear that it would open, and I lay awake each night with fear. Can you imagine that all of humanity has been turned into creatures that want to kill you? Because that’s what I dreamed about, and it was the most hopeless feeling in existence.
Time passed. A few zombies got in, but I cracked their necks without getting bitten. That’s one of two ways to kill them- the alternative is severe shock damage to the brain, aka bullet in the head. Eventually, and don’t ask me how this works, it was a dream, I was staring out the glass doors, praying they wouldn’t open. Glass doors are safe, btw, because the super-zombies are too stupid to open them- they just slump against the glass and groan. Anyways, Eugene had been replaced by a girl that I loved. That’s all I knew about her. Suddenly, she was a raven sitting on a lamp post, and her eyes went wide.
"It’s not the zombies," she whispered to herself in horror. "It’s that bird."
What she meant was, the bird was infected with the virus, and it was apparent she’d been attacked by it. The girl turned around and looked at me with fiery beauty- exactly like Dark Phoenix compared to Jean Grey, except this girls’ hair was an inky raven. She was changing. I ran to her as fast as I could and snapped her neck, but she was invulnerable to it for reasons unknown. As stupid as this sounds, she grew a small, sharp beak where her nose should have been, and although I twisted her cranium 720 degrees, she looked at me sadly. At that moment, I knew I had encountered a foe I couldn’t kill- my worst fear. I gave up and offered her my neck, wanting the death to be quick. With some grace, and some level of unspoken sorrow, she bit into my flesh. Surprisingly, she pulled away.
"I need bird flesh, not human," she explained. I transformed into the same raven-like creature she was, minus the beak, and I felt an unstoppable surge of power.
I woke up feeling very disturbed with what my subconscious was telling me about myself. Hm.
Question. Why is no one perfect? I bid you good day.
Once again, I have taken a depressive plunge. I don’t know where this stemmed from, but it is not pretty. Feeling sorry for yourself and unexplainable guilty are stereotypical traits of an emo. Nevertheless, I am sorry for my entries being so wretched. And I am sorry for being the nonchalant asshole. It’s not who I want to be. My negativity serves no purpose except to depress, and my tyranny reaps no rewards. I try to be dogmatic, but you each have your own lives, your own views, and your own arguments. Please don’t let me influence them, and if I disagree with you, then I beg your forgiveness, and patience in reminding me to be accepting.
Readers, I will share with you something very personal. As far as I am aware, these are the multiple faces to my person. I am not sure which is my favourite, which I am most commonly, and which one is the real me. From here on, this is all taken out of my real diary. Happy reading.
I think I know my number one reason for being masochistic. I consider it punishment for my wrongdoings. (Emo)
Let me try and define my multiple personalities.
-The emo (guilt-ridden or suicidal)
-The warrior (elite fighter)
-The optimist (smile =))
-The erudite (sophisticated learner)
-The apathetic (no one cares)
[Xin. Of course it’s not my real name, but it’s a part of me that I long to be.] So who is Xin? Some combination of all of them? Sounds about right. Xin doesn’t care; he throws himself to the wind’s embrace. He’s an acrobat, an aristocrat- guilty yet guiling. He’s just the essence of living, and he is an unstoppable, gleeful force.
Yeah… Xin’s a legend. I wish I could be like him.
[PS: Sorry for all the emo-ness! I’ll make it up to all of you and bake cookies. Seriously, next time you see me, ask for a cookie and I’ll make you a batch. If you think I’m gay, that’s your problem. More cookies for me! =D]