The escapist instinct.
written: 10:35 p.m. on Thursday, Jan. 22, 2009

I'm so tempted to skip class to watch two hot guys fight each other to near-death on the tennis court, but oh, I am chronically unable to skip class. Why, Self, oh why? Roger's playing Marat Safin tomorrow at roughly the time I'm having Intelligence Law. SIGH! Why, AO Organisers, why do you insist on putting Roger last? WHY? Poor thing has to play past midnight again like on Monday. *hugs Roger tight* (If only I could do that in real life! Platonically, that is. I don't want Mirka on my bad side. Hmm, apparently 'platonically' is not a word. Oh well.)


On another note.

I needn't be in school for more than 15 minutes to understand why it is that immersing myself in distractions such as the Australian Open and Roger Federer and whatnot makes my life so much easier. I stop thinking about things that I should probably think about, which I don't want to think about because they upset me and are too complicated and I just want to spend my days squealing over Roger's tennis and obsessing over his matches and willing him to his 14th Grand Slam. It's much easier than investing my time sorting out things that are not going to be sorted out.

Like how I can't explain why I still feel that negativity when I really shouldn't anymore, because it's been way too long.

Like how I also can't explain why I feel that irritation when I shouldn't because it's just not nice.

And above all else, I don't want to think about the inevitable end in the few months' time, about the future, about what I'm going to do.

I'm quite aware that running away isn't the best way to deal with things, and neither is it the most mature method I can think of. Thing is, I'm just so tired, and I just want to indulge in something that makes me happy. It's easier analysing to death Roger's game and form, his chances against an opponent (usually 100% chance of victory), tracking his rivals' progress in the tournament, than to occupy myself with thoughts about whether or not my level of self-confidence is directly proportional to the level of interest that guys show in me. Because the possibility that I perceive myself according to how other people perceive and respond to me? It's just too fucking tragic and despondent to even consider.

And so - Australian Open. The downside is, I know I will be more than devastated in the rare event that Roger doesn't win the trophy - precisely because I've invested pretty much all my emotional energy in him just so I won't have to expend it elsewhere. At least Roger Federer hardly ever lets me down, unlike...well. Real life, I suppose.

This escapist instinct has to stop at some point, I know. For now, I'm happy the way I am.

before sunrise // before sunset

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