It’s 6:20 am. Darned. I got up at 5:30. Woke up at 3 because I dreamed Eugene’s car was rolling down a hill. I threw out my arm as I chased it, and knocked over the glass on my bedside table. Swearing I cleaned it up. 5am, woke up from nightmares. School, leavers. Darn them. So that’s my second night of troubled sleep. What a whingey little bitch I am.
Why get up at 5, you ask? I’m sure you don’t, but anyway, to study. Why aren’t I studying? Because I feel filthy. Eugene stayed up all night, so of course he has little to no regard for the rest of the house. He trashes every room he enters while we sleep, and then goes to bed. I’ve been cleaning a little, but it’s too depressing. Ha. Depressing. Anyway, so I’ve settled for chaos. If I can’t live in immaculate order (a pipe dream if I ever heard one) I may as well trash the house, knocking things over and scattering accoutrement everywhere so I don’t have to clean.
Playing Resident Evil 4. Greatest most enjoyable game since Zelda Ocarina. Problematically, like Twilight Princess, my brother insists on watching me play. That in itself was tolerable- he’s spending time with me, enjoying a great text like I am. However, when it comes to the point he forces/blackmails me into playing every single freaking day, for like 30-60 minutes, it’s fuck off bullshit. I no longer play for enjoyment. Eugene breaks the suspension of disbelief, by gasping and saying "Ooh!" as if he knows what to do. Or "John behind you!" when a zombie-esque creature stumbles towards me. Yeah Eugene, I know. Stfu. Although, to my credit, I rock the house, and then some. What’s that? Six mace-wielding zombies surrounding you? Blow up that barrel, two headshots, a knee-shot, kick in the face, turn around, riot gun that sorry ass bastard who thought he could pull one over you. Oh no, three more! What’s that? They have shields? KABLOOIE!
Still working on that whole living thing. It’s been 6 minutes, so I’ll be damned, I’m time wasting. Half an hour before I should be getting ready for school. And although I keep thinking of Ivy and her workload every time I want to complain.. Ah hell, what right to I have to bitch like this? Well, I have the right to, but it’s not entirely fair or empathetic of me. So I’ll go now.
Just… one last question. Why did they leave the workload to Year 12? When we have 3 terms instead of 4 (you know, scratch 10 weeks off the calender) and study more information than the previous four years combined, why lay 3 tests a week on us? As well as assignments, and in my case, a theoretical 6 hours of practice (bullshit. Try half an hour) every day? Combined with my incessant and to a degree voluntary obsession with RE4, I think I’ll just go and lie down for a while. And not get up. Oh wait, can’t, Friday is tomorrow! At last. Well… Just three tests to go. I’ll stop whinging now. Blargh. 6:30.
"My life is based on order. Add chaos, and I cease to live."