notes to nobody.
written: 5:59 p.m. on Thursday, Sept. 08, 2005
To my closed memo:
Theoretically I should be quite pleased you were not slapped with an F grade, or, more realistically, a D grade. I'm trying to tell myself, I wrote you in three hours, I hardly read my cases, I was distracted the whole damn week, by all counts I should've failed because, frankly, you're quite an atrocious piece of shit. The fact that my tutor was nice enough to grade you a C+/B- (though I do wish she'd make up her mind) should have me jumping for joy and getting on my knees and thanking her for her magnanimity.
But because I am me which means that I expect too much of myself, I hate you anyway. The sight of you make my eyes bleed, the words on you incite a feral rage in me that almost drives me to the brink of tearing out my hair. Why aren't you more eloquent, more analytical, more substantial? More importantly, why didn't you spell a B+? I'd burn you if I could, toss the ashes out of my window, watch them sink languidly down to the ground. We talked about pathetic fallacy in Literature classes - that's my pathetic fallacy, the way ashes fall, languid and smooth, going nowhere else but down; somehow, that seems to be a more accurate representation of my current state of mind and academic health than anything else.
To Self:
You know, it's just so typical of you. After something is committed in black and white you start going, Oh I should've tried harder, oh I could've done better if I'd tried harder, oh I should've started earlier. I think it's about high time you realised that it. doesn't. fucking. matter what you should have done because it won't change anything.
Think this: You have to do this and you have to do this now. You know, your powerful A Level mindset. I know this stupid law school nonsense is a million times more tedious and stressful and draining and longer than that two-month period was (well, obviously), but if you come up with another excuse to get a bloody ugly and mediocre grade, I really will kill you, ie. jump out of my window and just die because there's really no point in you living and depleting the world of its scarce resources if all you're gonna do is to sit on your (literally) fat and ugly ass and whine all day about how someone in your class got a B++ while you only got a C+/B-, because, you know what, seriously, it's fucking irritating, it makes my ears bleed and I get so sick of your crap that sometimes I really wish you were dead. Just die or something, if you can't die at least do something to make yourself shut up. You're such a stupid immature brat, you let your mood dictate your action, it's time to stop, once and for all.
But. Somehow, I have this sneaking suspicion that you're not going to listen to me. You're this stupid stubborn thing, you never change and you genuinely believe that things will work just because you want them to.
Excuse me while I laugh.
You're just a joke. Nothing more.
To Friday/tomorrow:
NOT YOU AGAIN. I can't express properly how much I genuinely hate you. Whenever I'm forced to face you I just want to feign sickness and stay at home because you are the worst way a person can ever think of starting a decent weekend. 11.30 to 12.45; 3 to 4.45. 12.45 to 3: what do you expect me to do during that time? More pertinently, who do you expect me to force to stick around with me during that time period when all my friends don't have school on Fridays and the ones that do, don't have classes in the fucking afternoon?
I dread you so much that I've half a mind to stick penknives into your grotesque eyeballs and dig them out. I hate your guts, I wish you were dead, I wish you'd burn (literally burn).
You make me feel so damn lonely. Thank you, so much, from the bottom of this cavity that I fervently wish were my heart.
To everything else:
Sigh. You, you and you. Sometimes I wish all of you weren't in my life...oh wait, you're not in my life, or you're barely in my life, hence the angst and sadness.
Ha ha ha ha ha. I just want to laugh and I just want to cry.
You disappoint me, you hurt me, you make me feel unwanted. Thank you for making me feel like a desired human being. This couldn't get any better.
I'm thinking, Yelen, you should mend fences; but I'm also thinking, You know what, I don't think I can be fucking bothered anymore when it's pretty plain that the feeling is mutual. So, screw it. I don't care. We can continue to drift further and further away, until I can't even see your faint outline on the distant horizon anymore, and it's perfectly fine with me. Why cling on to something that was never all that meaningful? For old times' sake? I'm sorry, but I refuse to succumb to banal sentimentality, things that don't mean a thing, empty words that resort to tried-and-tested cliches because you're not creative enough to come up with original lies.
I get it now. I don't matter to you.
And you. Just tell me what you want and I'll try my best to give it to you.
Sometimes I don't know if I should feel insulted that you're neither interested in my mind nor my body. I mean, the latter is pretty understandable, considering the grotesque condition it's currently in; but my mind? Hello, that's about the only reason I exist and don't completely hate myself, and you completely denigrate it by waving a nonchalant hand like it doesn't matter.
Wait a minute: like it doesn't matter? Wake up, self, it doesn't matter, period. You're so...infuriating. Do I mean nothing to you? If so, why do you still want me around?
Sigh.
To the cavity that has to be my heart or else I will lose my sanity:
Good news: I looked into the mirror last night and I finally saw a face that I recognised, however slightly. Thank you for coming back. I've certainly missed your calming presence, the way you kept me rooted and saved me from potential havoc. I hope you're here to stay.
before sunrise // before sunset
Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010