I've been in a very bad mood lately, despite the fact that nothing's all that wrong, not on the surface anyways and as I'm writing I am typing furiously, the most furious I have ever typed and I don't enjoy the fact that construction on a new house is racking up a racket, thunder's a-thundering, and my mother's got the sound system on at full volume downstairs, listening to the type of music that she likes and I don't, and it's all culminating into a giant pile of "oh, my God, why is this my life and why can't the world shut up for just a minute?"
Exams are not over yet. Three more papers to sit for tomorrow and one of them is Civics so whatever for that. But camp's tomorrow. And I really will never get tired of rolling my eyes at that and scoffing and laughing and making all the jokes because it will never get old. It probably won't get old after camp either.
Bad days stacked one after another and this is the part where the whiny teenager in me (or rather, as I've come to realize, the simple whiny teenager that I truly am) goes "why can't I catch a break" and instead of studying harder on Wednesday, Nisa and I just talked about how crappy our Maths papers were. And instead of focusing on Geography, like really focusing, during the barely half an hour study period we had between that paper and English, Nisa and I talked about how we would like to own that remote control in the movie Click.
This is not a hundred and ten percent. It's not even fifty and frankly I'm so disappointed in myself, I don't even know what gives. It's weird, it just is, to have these lucky breaks and 'flukes' but at the end of the day, they aren't really lucky breaks or flukes at all and I am confused, so confused, about the balance between God's generosity and pure sweat and tears. For a moment there, it was like I entered an alternate universe through some window of sorts, into a life of a Me that's not going to get straight As for PMR. And it's come to that point where I don't know who I'm doing this for anyways, myself or other people.
There's another reason why I'm angry, of course. Text messages are not your best friend. And it's so ridiculous to want something that you can't have, something so freaking unattainable that it's even further from reach than Pluto and I don't know why I'm still butthurt over all of this. It happened. Let it go. Just stop lactating with rage (Sue!) every time you even chance a glance to the right. It's embarrassing.
I keep thinking I want all this to be over but it's never going to be over. I can't wait until I retire. There, damn, I said it.