Wednesday, September 15, 2004
I keep telling myself that there's only a few more weeks to go. A few more weeks to go. A few more weeks to go.
Because honestly, I'd rather just curl up and die.
There's so much things to do, with so little time. And on top of that, my ridiculous bouts of insomnia has return in its full glory; even when I attempt to go to sleep at 4 in morning, I can't.
My head is throbbing. I feel pukish. I have so much trouble collecting my thoughts.
I'm tired of this banality.
I keep working so hard. I cannot help that I'm an extremely emotional individual, and as much as I try to exclude my emotions out of my work, I can't. Because it is only when I immerse my very self into my work, then I'll be satisfied.
Despite being the so-called over achiever that I am, my satisfaction does not seem to bring me any good. I cannot be average. I am not average.
Sometimes, I really don't know what I'm doing. Why I'm really here. I can't imaging myself slugging through A Levels, or going through any other course. I've always believed that I've been made to stand where I am today. But amidst this mundane blurry of faces, I get lost. I'm lost and I realy don't know what to do.
I've tried so hard. So hard for so long.
I have this dream of changing the world. And it's more than just my tabloid paper.
I dream of changing the world when I'm on top of the ladder. I don't know if I'll ever get there. Or if my aspirations and beliefs stay similar as I trudge on.
I am a selfish individual. I do not have the selflessness of Charmain, and for that I envy her. I cannot love. I cannot love anybody but those whose ideals, aspirations and values mirror mine.
This flurry of faces. This repulsive mad rush. This unfathomable satiated burning sensation in my chest that's eroding my insides.
I have lost all ability to radiate positivity. I have lost all ability to keep myself happy. Now, I just want to be in control of my life again. Something very difficult for me to do.
I want to be powerful. In a smarmy matriarchy of togetherness, I want to be this dynamic, spirited and intelligent woman who lives for herself.
I don't know if I can anymore.
I don't feel angry anymore. I just feel frustrated. I feel frustrated at so many things, but mostly I get frustrated at myself. I'm frustrated at my inability to trust people. I'm frustrated at my perfectionist streak. I'm frustrated at my tendency to despise people because they don't think.
But most of all, I'm frustrated at my expectations of myself. I expect too much of myself; I know I am not strong enough to live merely in this platonic realm out of time and flesh on the other side of all those mirrors.
Like a shot of brandy went home. A sniff of cocaine. Reality hits me at half past the hour in realisation that I have a media management test on Friday.
Tsk.
A few more weeks, Fuzzy, a few more weeks. A few more weeks. A few more weeks....
posted by Fuzzy @ 19:06
monologue.
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