come on now, sugar.
written: 10:21 p.m. on Wednesday, Oct. 26, 2005

I had lunch at NYDC with my mom and we came home at 3-something in th afternoon and I took out my contact lenses and plopped down on her bed and promptly fell asleep.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed it was 7-something in the evening.

This clearly explains why I don't usually take naps, no matter how painfully tired I am or how much I really want to sleep. My whole afternoon was wasted and so now I'm stuck with trying to read the stupid cases for the stupid LAWR research binder thing in time for tomorrow's group meeting.

I am so fucking sick of LAWR.

Then again, make that I am so damn sick of school, period.

Gilmore Girls Season Five spoilers warning!

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I can't believe Rory dropped out of Yale.

I can't believe Jess is no longer in the picture.

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Spoilers ended.

As much as I like Logan and think he's charming and cute and suave, I still like Jess.

I can't believe, too, that I finished watching the whole of season five in less than two weeks. Something tells me that this picture is entirely wrong and messed up, but for some reason, I don't really care.

And that's it. I don't care. When and how have things degenerated to this stage? I'm serving my body on a silver platter for you to dismember and I'm standing by idly on the sidelines looking on, an expression of petulant nonchalance, the middle finger to your face when you deign to look back. My body my heart my soul, all the things I stood for before, and it's difficult and onerous and trying and so tedious to reverse everything when you know for sure that this isn't what you want.

The next time I say I want to drop out of law school, it may not be that funny anymore.

So many things I don't care about, that strike me as utterly unimportant and superficial, you and you and you, but what gives me the prerogative to scoff at them and pass derogatory judgements upon their activities? Pompous means thinking you're the shit when you're really not, pretentious means painting yourself in grandiose black and white, I am all of that and I am none of it.

What even matters anymore? I'm messing everything up and I know that I'm messing everything up and so I'm messing everything up with clear, conscious knowledge of my actions and it's become a fact now and no amount of sincere but ultimately futile words of encouragement can snap me out of this. I'm not in a funk, I'm not breathing underwater; I know exactly what I'm doing, what I should be doing but am not doing, and I know exactly what I'm choosing when I say, with all honesty, that I don't care.

I suppose this is the part where I should be alarmed.

I don't feel like myself anymore, but that also begs the question: Have I ever truly known myself?

The more pertinent question to ask is, Does it remotely matter?

Screw it. Who gives a shit. I'll fulfill my obligations and do what I have to, the bare minimum to survive Law school, and I'll continue my life-long subscription to escapism and be happy in worlds brought to life by genius writers whom I desperately want to be, Barnes and Wilde and Oates and so many others.

I want to watch Hiroshima Mon Amour.

I want to learn Japanese and French.

I want to read books by Albert Camus, especially The Stranger.

Nihilism and existential nihilism appeal very much to me.

Harold Pinter won this year's Nobel Prize in Literature. I don't have a particular penchant for plays, but his have always been intriguing because they are so hard to understand. I also found out during Contract tutorial (which I totally did not listen to) that Dario Fo is a Nobel Prize in Literature winner, and Mel and I laughed so hard over The Accidental Death of an Anarchist (or is it The Anarchist? I can't remember exactly) in JC1 and I'm never able to forget that.

Anyway, boring LAWR cases beckon.

I want to stay out all night one of these days and only come home in the morning. That'll be fun. I mean, have you ever slept on a park bench before, bummed for a night at a void deck, wandered around Singapore at 3 in the morning all the way until 7 a.m. because you can? I certainly haven't and hell I want to do that.

One of these days, I will, and all I need is my diary, a pen and a book.

Colour me excited.

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