Ramblings of a Distracted and Procrastinating Mind

Here I am, quite the wreck. Not surprising. My composure has been unravelling since the end of SPM. What do I want with life?

For now a quiet spot in a library with no distractions will suffice. Well, more of a private collection anyway. But I'd rather a library, so the responsibility of owning thousands of books won't be weighing on me, and I'd have a wider field of books because just picking the books you like is no fun.

Oh, and probably a nice spot and a big TV and all the episodes of Mythbusters, Ancient Discoveries, Animals A to Z, foreign movies and some instrumental music.

That's me, hoarding and doing nothing with my hoard.

Well, why am I so distracted? Three years ago I'd be mortified if I were this distracted, disgusted at myself perhaps, ashamed that I would be so blase about my studies. Reading the Genetics textbook still give me excited tingles but other than that, it's just a bunch of blah. 

Three years ago I wouldn't have used 'a bunch of blah'. 

I've read somewhere, most people overestimate the changes that would happen in the span of five years, and overestimate what could happen in ten. Three years, where did I see myself in? Probably some place Not Here, some alternate reality where I could actually be excited to learn things and do well and be more animated than I am now. How odd.

So what do you do? Keep calm and carry on. But I have a knack of ignoring things I am not comfortable with. Bad habit. Trying to get over it. 

Also have a bad habit of wanting everything to be 'just right' from the beginning. Hence a pile of crap at the beginning is more depressing than a screw-up halfway. Trying to get over that too.

Didn't I say that I was the kind of person who knows what's wrong, knows how to get over it, but won't? 

Yes, trying to get over that too, mind you. It's so easy to trick yourself. 

I have to get over 'next time for sure', and start with 'this time, this time for sure'. Might be a rocky start, but I think I am getting there.

The Lights are too Bright

Aren't you glad that you were born before the rise of mobile phones, ipods and the internet? When lugging around a CD player that played your song CD's, and modest, cheerful people dancing and colorful captions for karaoke music videos, the Recycle song, and owning a bicycle was cool? When ice cream was chocolate, strawberry and vanilla, and maybe yam and durian and corn, and not exploding mango, brownie and ribbons of odd flavors and cheesecake, and when Rainbow was radical enough? When candy was 5 sen? (I think it still is, somewhere) When TV's were small and boxy and you knew things inside were not real because the picture wasn't so sharp you could hurt your eyes? When the films of the 1980's were grainy, washed-up, far away, and seemed so real yet not real enough, that you want to return to the real world after? When Disney made cartoons that made sense? When Pokemon was the coolest thing in the world, when blackboards and chalk and paper and pencil and wooden desks and chairs were your life? Before everyone had a mobile phone, when you had to schedule your appointments face-to-face and you had to get there on time because there wouldn't be a way to contact the other person to tell them that you'll be late?

When food was real. When people were real. When I still felt that we had an identity, a vision, a place to head to. Perhaps then I was a carefree child full of nothing and worry-free.

Why did it felt like the world went to waste at around 2004, to 2005? Why did it seem a sharp decline? The first things I noticed were the goods. Suddenly they felt cheaper in quality. They tore easier, lasted shorter. Then the colors became more vivid. Bright, unreal, hurting. Suddenly the distinction between the real world and a created one, one that told stories and one that marketed goods, was blurred. Suddenly two pots of soup were mixed, poured onto the ground, stomped on and mixed. Suddenly the world was a mess. 

It has been a mess since. What happened? Why did the food taste stronger, but more bland? Why did the lights become too bright, piercing almost? Why did the smiles seem so out of place, the tone so fake, the people so distant and unsatisfied? Why does nothing last?

The lights are too bright. That's what I use to describe this most. They hurt my eyes, then they hurt my ears. It's like that buzzing, whining sound you hear, off those fairy lights. It's so bright and so loud and so hot, and the smell is so sharp that I want to smother myself and hide away under my 1998 blankets and 1998 mattress, maybe crush some flowers in my 1998 garden and smell the smell of dead leaves. 1998 felt more real than the world now. 

Great Big Giant Fishsticks

Oh to miss them so!

Giant fishsticks. Now that's something that was done right. Fish, in the shape of sticks. Who would've thought?

As they ascend higher,

Abscond they from the rules.

The lot of them are liars

The rest of them are fools

Five stages of Orgodeath

Five stages of Orgodeath

Which varies slightly from the Kübler-Ross five stages of death.

Denial – “I got X (where X < 60)  marks for Orgo! I’m awesome!” *huge grin*

“Wait, that can’t be right. I’m sure I’ve studied and did my part well. It must be a glitch in the system."

Anger – “OMGWTFBBQ???!!! What kind of stupid question is this? What the heck are they asking? Why the hell did they mark me wrong for this?”

Depression – “I h8 you werl O orgo whaii whaii mai brain melts outta mai ear arrrgh”

Bargaining – “Goddammit, they counted my points wrong. I’m so sending this for regarding.”

Acceptance – “O SHIT! ORGO TEST 3 IN ONE WEEK! Meh.”

Right Ear Aching

There is an

Ache

In my

Ear

And I will Google it

To see

Whether

There is something wrong

Or maybe it’s the itch

Which

I thought

Wasn’t real

Back now

For I have

Disregarded

It

It wants

Revenge

They're Lining Up at the Bus Stop

One hero said to another, “Which route are you taking?” The hero who knows his trade will know what the other is talking about.

At the bus station of all heroes, all heroes set out to trod their paths and plot their courses – in that order – though usually there was no use in watching* the maps and schedules because they’d end up one way or the other in some situation. It’s in the roads.

There used to be a time when there was just the path, that many paths that were already there and the hero/es set forth to their adventure. Those were the first heroes, the founding fathers, or maybe mothers, though maybe he or she was just one person, masquerading as many others.

Then there were more, and wider roads, and perhaps a dirt path or two winding away into the woods; a scenic route that brought you back to your tarmac and deliver you (safely) to your destination. The self-serving hero might bring the odd horse or two, but all that did was muck up the roads.

Roads were there because of cars, but sometimes the car came first.

There were too many cars to carry all of the heroes, so they had trains, taxis, busses, though it was high time they’d gotten a ferry or a jet-plane. The busloads of heroes are carted every day to their destination, taking the same road over and over again.

-------

* I know, not the right word, but it's intentional.

Short

I am embarrassed by the essay I just wrote. It's shoddy and terrible and full of holes. But being a bitter child that I am I don't really care. It pisses me off just to write the dang thing. When had I ever hated writing something for English so much?

Probably once or twice, or three times, if you will. It's sad and disappointing, but it's close to four and I want to sink into slumber and dream and get away from all the silly things.

But I'm not tired. I'd like to read something, draw something, learn something new. But I have to sleep to keep up with the annoying workload, and do some social things I have committed myself to.