hullo, world.
Nov. 9th, 2008 03:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spiderpigHullo, world.
It's been a long time hasn't it?
I'm currently clearing stuff away and packing my room so that I can get down to mugging for my two ltierature tests on Monday and Tuesday. Just that, I haven't read a couple of the texts yet and have to rely on Spark Notes. :\ (I mean, I'd really like to finish Ivanhoe and Middlemarch in two days on top of studying all the dreaded amounts of poetry, but alas. I won't be able to do it and remember anything.) Rushed book reading gives me amnesia.
Actually, the 'currently clearing' was a day ago. That's how long I've been putting off finishing this journal entry. Words all stuck in my head. It's a side effect of not speaking up enough. I get everything sitting contentedly in my brain, like a baby that doesn't really want to be ejected into the world.
I'm facing an...existentialist identity crisis as of late. My whole life I was dying to be a journalist. It didn't really matter what kind I wanted to be -- as long as I could get out into the front lines and write, I thought that I'd be okay. But lately, that spark for hardliner journalism has faded. I don't know if I was never passionate enough (no, scratch that, I was always too over zealous but just unsure of my capabilities) but lately I've been swinging more to the easier side of things. Lifestyle writing -- which I have to say for myself and all other lifestyle writers, is not exactly easy to do. Basically, I don't know what I want to be when I graduate. Coming into university and USP has made things a lot less simple. I have a whole range of things I could do, and another slab of things I can't do. Which makes me itching for some trouble. I just want to... I don't know. Open a bookstore. Form my own magazine for all things cult culture. But. I don't know. Stream of consciousness fading.
I'm seriously lagging behind in my reading this semester. It's so bad that it's not funny anymore. The holidays will be spent getting a headstart on next semester's books. The worst thing about me is that I know I'm not doing my utmost best -- ti's different from trying my best, that I am doing -- to live Literature. Is it possible to become so... entrenched in something that it takes so much for me to get excited about it? I feel that it's happening and I'm terrified. Rouse.
Frankly, I don't even know what I'm typing right now. My brain is clearing itself of whatever flotsam and jetsam that's been floating and jettisoning around. I need to find a zest for life. I think I might hve found something, in all that book reading and ink wasting but I need to take some action. I feel like some Bronte heroine who's passive. I'll be honest here, I never never really liked the Bronte heroines. I never disliked them either, but it's a sort of neutrality that borders of "Hmmm. Well now."
Double lines double lines. I should post some of the poetry I've been writing. Haven't had time to edit them. I haven't had time for anything. For myself. I've been sitting in this same chair nearly 24/7 and it's getting tiring. Don't want to hear my mother scream at me to get out of the house and stop staring at my notes and the computer screen.
But don't you see, I have to do all this. My dream (I haven't exactly found it yet) depends on it. I'm a fool for chasing after a pot of gold but the thing is, fuck all that. I'm going to have that gold, and that fucking leprechaun in the end. And I'll sit on top of the rainbow and laugh at everyone else who's toiling below me. But before I can do any of that, I need to work.
Work rhythm is totally screwed up. Improving, but still screwed up. I have the concentration of a goldfish following a finger.
It's been a long time hasn't it?
I'm currently clearing stuff away and packing my room so that I can get down to mugging for my two ltierature tests on Monday and Tuesday. Just that, I haven't read a couple of the texts yet and have to rely on Spark Notes. :\ (I mean, I'd really like to finish Ivanhoe and Middlemarch in two days on top of studying all the dreaded amounts of poetry, but alas. I won't be able to do it and remember anything.) Rushed book reading gives me amnesia.
Actually, the 'currently clearing' was a day ago. That's how long I've been putting off finishing this journal entry. Words all stuck in my head. It's a side effect of not speaking up enough. I get everything sitting contentedly in my brain, like a baby that doesn't really want to be ejected into the world.
I'm facing an...
I'm seriously lagging behind in my reading this semester. It's so bad that it's not funny anymore. The holidays will be spent getting a headstart on next semester's books. The worst thing about me is that I know I'm not doing my utmost best -- ti's different from trying my best, that I am doing -- to live Literature. Is it possible to become so... entrenched in something that it takes so much for me to get excited about it? I feel that it's happening and I'm terrified. Rouse.
Frankly, I don't even know what I'm typing right now. My brain is clearing itself of whatever flotsam and jetsam that's been floating and jettisoning around. I need to find a zest for life. I think I might hve found something, in all that book reading and ink wasting but I need to take some action. I feel like some Bronte heroine who's passive. I'll be honest here, I never never really liked the Bronte heroines. I never disliked them either, but it's a sort of neutrality that borders of "Hmmm. Well now."
Double lines double lines. I should post some of the poetry I've been writing. Haven't had time to edit them. I haven't had time for anything. For myself. I've been sitting in this same chair nearly 24/7 and it's getting tiring. Don't want to hear my mother scream at me to get out of the house and stop staring at my notes and the computer screen.
But don't you see, I have to do all this. My dream (I haven't exactly found it yet) depends on it. I'm a fool for chasing after a pot of gold but the thing is, fuck all that. I'm going to have that gold, and that fucking leprechaun in the end. And I'll sit on top of the rainbow and laugh at everyone else who's toiling below me. But before I can do any of that, I need to work.
Work rhythm is totally screwed up. Improving, but still screwed up. I have the concentration of a goldfish following a finger.
