Oh god what am I doing with my life.
Someone please, please, please invent a “restart the weekend” button so I could slack off all I want minus the immense self-loathing on Sunday nights.
Talked to my best friend just now. Of course I yapped about some other guy and how I don’t remember dating (?) being this damn confusing but ended up with an angsty monologue re purpose and existence that just happened to be encoded on our chatbox. I can feel people losing patience with me. I’d stop boring them with my anxiety but the moment I decide to distract myself from my woes by doing something as equally unproductive as me indulging in these manic-depressive outbursts, I feel like I am two seconds away from combustion.
Ugh. Combustion. Reminds me that I have this Chemistry exam tomorrow and I still can’t explain cathode rays (electrons? Whahat the fuck) and what the fuss is about. Have always adored Physics and I have a working knowledge of quantum mechanics and the double-slit experiment (quantum entanglement is so damn romantic) but what the fuck is the deal with isotopes.
Getting crass. Must stop. Other than that I have a Philosophy of Teaching paper due tomorrow and the most I’ve done is learn how to spell Perennialism correctly.
What is wrong with me.
I’d say “Must start enforcing better/some study habits” or “must get back on track” but I have done that already, a million times over. I am so exhausted and fed up with myself and all I want to do is cut off all contact from society, hide under my sheets and read, like, for fun.
I’ve had it with the whole work-in-progress stance. I am going to be 19 in three months and my life, for all its worth, lacks imagination, lacks color. I blame all the old movies and literature for this yearning for flair and exuberance in an otherwise drab existence.
Woohoo angst. I am bored and spent. I need a change of place, a change of pace.