whining is way different from winning

Incompetence knows no true bounds. As long as the world requires us to work with one another, there will always be those people whose desire to work is indirectly proportionate from their knowledge of other’s capacity and will to work. It sucks. Lucky are those who are extremely patient for they notice not the abuse that is being done. But what about people like me?

Damn. I don’t feel like writing. I haven’t written in such a long while, and yet incomplete as I may feel, I cannot persuade myself to feel better through writing. I honestly feel twice as exhausted when I do things that just end up becoming my responsibility all because of other’s lack of that very same virtue. Instead of becoming physically exhausting, it ends up becoming mentally, spiritually and personally degrading. Again, it sucks.

I already have so many responsibilities. Gusto kaayo nakong mamuybuy. I’ll be slashing heads using an improvised gullotine (like the flying guillotine I saw on National Geographic, if I get the chance) if I don’t get the job. If someone else who does not deserve the position gets it, I am going to… well, I DON’T KNOW!!! How am I supposed to know my ultimate capacity to hurt others? Others can’t even tell if they are hurting other people, what should make me any different?

I am beginning to get pretty scared. Some of the people I work with have little (or simply non-existent) work ethics. They like, no, embrace cramming with arms wide open. Procrastinating comes as natural as the simple act of breathing. Imagine people who can afford to have fun when there are so many things to do, then suddenly wash their hands when blaming time comes around. If I keep on hanging around with these kind of people, I’ll end up looking 50 years older than my age (some people say that this is already true).

Happy thoughts, keep thinking happy thoughts… I think this is how that nursery rhyme goes, but then maybe, I was just hallucinating when I was a kid. Damn those hallucinogens (just kidding)! How does one keep thinking happy thoughts when only bad thoughts are available for thinking? Does one have to make reservations for happy thoughts to be available, or do these happy thoughts require booking before you can think them (just as most of the things in this world require reservations or bookings before they become available for usage)? I better reflect on my attitude. Apparently, people who are rejoicing when there’s nothing worth rejoicing for irritates me like a sting from a poison ivy (although I have never been stung by a poison ivy in my entire life).

Ha. Andie says she does not feel like writing, but then look at what she has just written. And I honestly do believe that she has suddenly gone mad as apparently, she is referring to herself in the third person.

the result of an extreme migraine

Who would have thought that writing would suddenly become such a strange thing? Suddenly is not exactly the right word to use, but then who am I to say such things? I can barely even think of the right words to write, so what right have I to criticize? Ha. That was half a tongue twister, don’t you think?

Everything I have been doing for the past few weeks have been an extremely lame excuse for living. The endless headaches and the overpowering (but extremely welcome) scent and taste of caffeine have invaded my senses. Sad to say, I can barely imagine myself surviving if it were not for those things. I guess that’s how pathetic I have become.

This is the last day of an entire year of going to a facility whose jail-like ability to keep its members detained in a life of sheer desperation is exceeded only by Satan’s (I think they call that place Hell). Two more years of suffering, and finally, I am off to the REAL WORLD. Or so they say. Really. What assurance do I have that being part of the labor force would be different from being an opening that regulates the amount of light that enters the eye? Haay. Riddles. I am insane, alright.

My head hurts. I better take some medicine.

my hundredth entry

After three years of using this blog, I have finally come to the point of no return: the hundredth entry. Surprisingly, I am experiencing a weird mixture of pride and disappointment right now. Pride in the fact that I have finally reached my hundredth entry. Disappointment in the fact that I was not able to reach this point sooner.

Anyway, the real point of this entry is not to talk about it. Frankly, I am better off going home right now, but I’m having lots of fun downloading music. This moment is another irony since I’m downloading songs of Fall Out Boy and Paolo Nutini: artists of two extremely different music genres. Anyway, I like their music, so I might be staying here for another half-hour or so listening to their music, and waiting for their songs to be downloaded.

I’m beginning to like Tuesdays and Thursdays. Again, another irony since this is the last week of classes, and the reasons why I extremely loathe and am beginning to like Tuesdays and Thursdays are bound to end in two days time. I’m not going to expound. I’m merely writing this for my own remembrance. It’s for me to know and for others to find out. And I definitely have no plans of becoming too cheesy online.

Yes! I think my downloads are done. Ta-ta!

musing of a deranged mind

Funny how four days of no internet connection seem like an eternity. But at least I’m back. I better let it all out before another interruption in our internet connection happens.

The past few weeks have been a blur. Two more weeks before summer break finally comes as a savior of my not-so-intact soul. Those two weeks would be a witness of how two seemingly innocent weeks can transform into a little taste of hell. Five examinations (sadly, no exceptions this semester despite the good grades I had for Strength), Methods paper (a ream thick), and homeworks and quizzes that continue to haunt me years after I have complied with them. Let me add the four 2-weeks-overdue books (which actually should come as no surprise at all) to the cocktail. Maybe, exaggeration is accompanying me tonight as I write, but the stress and fear I am experiencing is actually enough to drive me to a level of sanity only an overdose of insanity could bring.

I have so many plans for this summer, but tonight is absolutely the worst time to think of those plans. But to hell with being conscious about when’s the right time to do what.

For summer, I plan to:
1. Get my tongue pierced (March 26)
2. Go to Camiguin (April 28-30)
3. Get a new haircut (dunno when… maybe a little before school starts)
4. Read for the mass (maybe even sing the Psalms)
5. Join the church choir
6. Begin writing the novel I have been longing to write (hi Roa!)
7. Finish reading at least 3 books (David Copperfield, Great Expectations, and Dorian Grey)
8. Start and finish reading at least 5 books
9. Make at least 5 movie reviews
10. Make at least 5 book reviews.

So little time, so much to do…

I better go home.

three years of abuse

This is the last straw. I am so tired of people having to abuse me and take me for granted. Today, I will declare a war.

My classmates are a good example for the saying “People use and abuse.” They are one of the worst groups I have ever been with. I feel so worthless when I am with them. Lest I should finally kill someone, I have made the decision to distance myself from them. Sometimes, this tactic works. But sometimes, people just cannot take an effing hint.

Maybe I am not respectable enough. Maybe I am too sensitive. Maybe they were plainly born to make my life miserable. Or maybe they were absent when God was handing brains out. I just cannot stand it anymore. Screw all of them. They need me more than I do them, goddamn it! SCREW THEM!!!

We have an exam for Strength tomorrow. I do not bring books with me unless I have a class for the day, but I decided to bring my book with me today, hoping that I could get to study this afternoon, and have the entire night to do my Methods paper. Why was I so effing stupid?

I made one of the worst mistakes of my life when I lent her my book. I thought she was going to return it right after having it photocopied. I was hoping to do my assignment and study for my exam from 12:00-2:30 in the afternoon. She returned the book at almost five.

She wasted more than three hours of MY LIFE!!! What the F!!! We are not supposed to waste anything that isn’t ours!!! SCREW HER!!! I hope she finally gets what she effing deserves.

She has not invested in my favor bank. I, on the other hand, has invested so much in hers, that if I asked her to do anything, she would have to do it. Anything. Now, why should I let her push me around? Without her beauty, she is close to nothing. Screw her.

God. Three years of abuse. How could I have gotten through it? From now on, no more free-riders. There is no free meal, and as sure as hell, any meal from me would have to be extremely expensive.

I hope she gets to read this. At least I would not have to shout at her in front of many people. If she does not get to read this, then pasensya siya. Mas mabuti pa siguro kung magpapakamatay siya. At least marami ang sasaya.

This is the last straw. I am so tired of people having to abuse me and take me for granted. This entry is made for the sole purpose of declaring a war with Joy Anne Marie Solano.

the pains of writing

I was born to write. Which surprises me to no extent as every path life happens to lay before me leads everywhere but writing. I have not written in quite a while, as I have never had the time, but then, a 24-hour day has always been too short for creatures of our speed.

It pains me to know that someday, I might end up looking back to this day and regret being alive, well, if you call an existence founded on the meager acts of breathing, eating, sleeping, and every little boring thing in between as living. I have just started reading The Zahir by Paolo Coehlo, and I cannot help but feel that it was written for the sole purpose of making me miserable. Miserable in knowing that I can do so many things if I gave myself the chance to break out of the meaningless existence which I painstakingly molded for my self. How pathetic.

There are so many things I want to do in this life. But year, after year, after year, passes, with me not experiencing even one of those adventures. Frankly, I am so bored with my life, I am beginning to wonder what my motivation for survival is. I find it difficult to wake up every morning, and I find it even more difficult to enter the classes whose purpose for existing remains a mystery still. I am so fed up with this abomination, though that is no wonder at all. The greatest mystery of all is why I have not put an end to this piece of abomination. An abomination better known as my life.

I am not suicidal. Just bored. To death. But the more I get to think of it, I am the one boring myself to death, and isn’t that just a perfectly sad way of committing suicide?

Do not be alarmed. I am not feeling as bad as I may seem. I am just disappointed for so many things. I am angry at the fact that my classmate has failed to return my book yet. I am angry at the fact that I cannot study because I do not have the book, which I so stupidly allowed my über responsible prodigy of a classmate to borrow. I am angry at the fact that I was so stupid so as to let my book be borrowed by some piece of, well, you must know what I mean. I am angry at the fact that nobody takes me seriously. I am angry at the fact that nobody understands me at all. Which is actually funny since I rarely give anybody the chance to know me. I guess anger has been a part of my soul, and that taking it away would be the death of me.

I have not written in such a long while. And not writing makes me know less about myself. I find that painful. So much so that I am on the verge of crying right now.

musings of a super deranged mind

I haven’t had proper sleep. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a proper breakfast and lunch today. I feel dizzy. Yeah.

This is going to be a very short entry.

I kind of like someone right now. Well, for almost three years now. Jajaja. If he gets to read this… oh, well…

I better get some sleep.