a need for direction.
written: 11:20 p.m. on Thursday, Oct. 27, 2005

I googled "rejected by Cambridge" and I finally realised how slim and actually non-existent my chances are. The interview is put on heavy and repeat rotation in my mind, almost like a brand new Jay Chou music video and I would wholeheartedly use this analogy except that I still have not caught the damn thing on MTV (excuse me for not being glued to that insipid channel 24/7, or even for one whole hour), I keep thinking of all the things that I could've and should've said if only I hadn't pulled back, and that stupid and embarrassing James Joyce/Homer confusion, that blunder is so going to haunt me for the rest of my life and when I get my rejection letter I will know exactly why.

I can't do this, I need to do what I want to do, but I'd rather be shot dead than to transfer to NUS Arts; in fact, I'd rather drag my feet through Law school and drown miserably and feel suicidal every day than to go to NUS Arts. Now I wish I'd applied to more UK universities.

I sound like an ungrateful little brat. Whatever; I can't even begin to make myself try to convince myself that I should care in the most remote sense.

As a concept, next week is supposed to rock. Two days of public holiday which means three days of school and Wednesday is a no-tutorial day which means school ends at 10.15 a.m.; except, no, when you fill in the blanks and fatten up the skinny muscles of this unfortunate skeleton you'd end up wanting to take a chainsaw and reduce it to dust and ashes. Oral presentation on Monday and I don't think I know what's going on, still; I'd probably have to do the stupid research binder on Wednesday after Contract because we haven't even got a file yet, let alone attempted to beef it up; and Friday is Friday, business as usual, SLS and Tort tutorial until 5 in the evening.

And then it's the same events all over again, I probably have to prepare to study for exams, hmm then again, maybe I won't study and maybe I'll just go there and wing it, just like old times back in good ol' SNGS. And since Law school is kinda like SNGS Revisited, it makes a lot of sense for me to revert to my old ways and screw up my life exactly the way I did back in secondary school.

It's so much easier not to care when you're given the blank cheque to do so.

I just want to leave leave leave. Pack my suitcase and book a flight out of this country. I can't stand its claustrophobic confinements, the way you run into the same people everywhere you turn, how things haven't really changed, just rearranged. I'm on my knees now, begging Life to give me more than this rotting state of blatant banality before it permanently murders my spirit - if I still have a spirit.

I need to figure things out. I'm not in the mood for academics. I'm turning my back on good grades and for the first time in two and a half years, I genuinely do not fear or care about the consequences; it's so hard to when the goal that you worked for, the finishing line that drove you to want to get good grades, eventually eluded your grasp anyway.

I guess what I said about destroying the one thing that I hate by turning the tide in my favour was mere hot air after all. How typically, fatally me. I'd be lying if I said I'm surprised.

Now, let's consider the next question: Why do I even bother turning up for lectures?

Oh, I know. If I don't go for lectures my mom will be on my case all the time and anyway she drives me to school so there's no way I can get out of them.

I'm sorry, I really tried to make this work. Maybe I didn't try hard enough, maybe I never genuinely tried, maybe I still don't want to try; but I tried to make this work and that's the thing I will tell myself and make myself believe, a hypnopaedic message on repeat by my bedside every night for the rest of my life.

I am so indescribably unhappy.

**

You were right. You were right from beginning till the end.

Do what you like. Don't listen to them. You know what will make you happy. Money isn't enough to sustain you.

I wish I'd listened to you.

**

Whenever I get fucked up dreams they prompt me to remember and derail all my attempts at forgetting. And the most recent fucked up dream is so fucked up that I feel small and pathetic, and thank you, I'm remembering again, the more pleasant memories, what could've been, the works.

Just what do you want from me? I'm a fan of dreams and the workings of one's subconsciousness, but not this time. Dreams cannot be taken literally and usually I'm drawn to the intrigue of symbolic images in my dreams, but not this time.

I don't care why I dreamt of text messages, of a reversal of roles, phone calls that I receive. This is getting more and more preposterous by the nanosecond.

Fuck. Off.

**

On the bright side, the first intentional torts tutorial question is hilarious.

On the down side, it's long and all over the place and I'm in no mood to unravel it and make sense of it.

**

My LAWR groupmates were talking about blogging on the bus and they asked, What's the point of blogging?

I don't blog; I keep an online diary. There isn't really a point, I must say; except that it's a paper diary surrogate and yes I hate myself for letting technology make such intimate inroads into my life but I succumbed and so this is my Catharsis.

That's all there is to it.

I don't believe in keeping up with friends through their blogs; it's insincere and it is, at best, an attenuated form of communication. I have no interest in these things.

Having said that, I make no effort to call people and ask them out for coffee anyway.

**

Logan Huntzberger is so cute.

Logan Echolls has stolen my heart.

**

Aiyar i dun noe larz airvry ting iz so mesed up lorz.

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