It must be minutes until our lecture class begins (if my professor arrives on time, that is), but still i decide to write this random shit. Just a writing exercise (of writing under any circumstance), or something more than that, if it’s not my mind terribly cluttered and needing to take a dump.
A lot of thoughts and ideas have been stirring my mind during the past two days. I haven’t managed to write them down (although i have written in verse my budding feelings for this person, i haven’t been able to tell my cynicism about it). The days are dragging by, final requirements are being required, and sleeping is (still) a chore.
Heck, i forgot it was my blog’s third anniversary yesterday. So unfortunately, I wasn’t able to produce a third anniversary post. THAT’S SO BAD. I spent my hours before sleeping last night in wait for his replies, which didn’t arrive. I procrastinated reading my assigned texts, so i flunked my german quiz earlier today.
Bottomline: everything’s s rush.
To give you a clue on what mess my calendar is: to watch sta. cruz show tomorrow night (insight paper required), historical discussion and critical paper (on Defoe’s Journal of the Plague Year) due march 1st, play rehearsals on monday, poetry translation due wednesday, a lot of german to study, to figure out my output for creative writing class, to filter my feelings about reality and fancy on this guy-who’s-almost-double-my-age-but-still-i-have-a-crush-on, to write and write and write and read.
and read.
Okay, i know this post is kind of meaningless and pointless and boring, but please! bear with me. i know my last post about rebellion was…oversensationalized, and i was like, “fuck the what you’re such a crap” after i left the computer shop and was euphoric after a close tetris battle with Kevin. I had planned on trashing the post or tempering the tone, but i just let it go. Everything that i had written there was true, anyway.
Pretty much what my life’s revolving around right now is my development of virtues and temperance. I had missed on writing about my third tattoo experience (of what, of that kind of nervousness of walking alone into a shop, asking an artist, then eventually getting into it? about the vibrations of the needle? about the pain? there’s an epic post about it already on my blogspot.) but the remarkable thing about it is the after-thoughts which i had after the “therapeutic” experience. Suddenly, the world seemed bright and beautiful, and as i rode a tricycle home, i began to consider having a normal life — find some good guy and settle down, be a good wife and mother, stuff like that. I don’t know what in the world suddenly brought out that kind of hope in me. But the conversation between me and Kevin was another thing. What i told him was something far from that suddenly positive half-baked thoughts. It’s just that from my experience, a good life is too good to be true. Well, our lives were great and happy somewhere, sometime when i was seven or below, but like biodegradable material, it disintegrated. And doesn’t everything disintegrate? Doesn’t everything fade? These are big questions i wish i may be able to answer, by proving something that lasts forever, or close to forever.
But one thing i am sure of, is that love don’t fade on itself. (and i hate to mention that word, love.) I loved Pete Wentz more than i ever loved any man on earth, and you will never imagine that unless we travel back in time, but it’s Ashlee Simpson’s fault. I loved my former boyfriend very much, until i realized it wasn’t he whom i loved, but the freshness of the experience. I loved Reji (and more or less, i still do) until it was time, distance, and other people and ourselves against us.
Anyway you get it. It takes work. WORK. Force times direction. As in friction, you will never reach that constant speed (regulated by kinetic friction, regardless of the increasing force, but never decreasing), unless you go over the static friction and keep the force in the same direction going on. Sorry for using Physics, haha. But really, everything takes work. Things don’t just happen, we make them happen. These words are not going to write themselves, unless I exert mental and physical effort to deliver them to you.
