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| 2.2I must make my peace with the grade I predeict I will get from uni. 2.2
I find out at 5PM today and i'm going a little loopy. If I don't think about it, I'm thinking about other things. What Roland said to me, how selfish and egotistical I am, how un-clever (his phrasing, not mine) I am, how my blogs contain nothing and I feel I live my life in a TV drama, how I overreact to my family issues. Everything. And if i'm thinking about that, i'm not thinking about my grades. And then I feel guilty, or something stupid like that.
I know what i'm going to get, really. And it's shameful, but I can't say I didn't try, I just didn't try hard enough, until it was too late. And now the world will judge me, and know how stupid I am, because it's right there, it can't be undone, really. Everybody in the world gets 2.1's, it's just a given, but they're so hard to achieve. I wish to blame the institution, the teachers, the system, but it's all me. Perhaps I was too young to have gone to uni. I don't know... It's probably not the end of my education, I like the idea of studying further, not for the grades, really but for the knowledge.
But I already know, I can learn as much as I possibly could, and still not be clever. I'm still slow on the uptake, and I always will be, people will always use words I don't know, and they'll scowl at me like i'm scum for not knowing. My parents didn't teach me such things, they're less knowledeable about English than I am, but they made it, my Dad is certainly respected, and maybe I should follow in his footsteps... Keep things private, and subtle, be quiet, for most of the time. And don't really have friends except for his wife, whom he kind of loathes for her stupidity at times.
Ugh, that's gonna be me.
2.2
Allright. That's where it begins, at 5PM. | | |
| DocumentMy god, I've come so far. I'm so happy with myself and my situation.
I'm so freakin' in love, I can't stand it. It's disgusting. I love it.
It's the most grown up, immature relationship I ever had. And I'm comfortable he's better than all the rest. All the rest of everyone. And I don't feel judged, for my ever-growing idiocy, and immaturity, and strangeness.
BUT, should he even mention this post to me, it's being deleted, and i'll claw his chest open with my painted toes.
OK?
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| New XangaI was close to closing this xanga and relocating somewhere foreign. Start somewhere new. But then if I did that I'd be doing it as a result of someone else. So i'll stick with it. Its mine, it's my space, it's my forum. And I can write say and think whatever I damn well want. And you know, it's the one place, I don't need to dress up in clean and uncomfortable clothing, or wear heels that kill my feet, and wear tops that I worry expose large lumps of fat on my belly, or worry about the exposure of my disgusting legs and try all manner of garment and fashion to cover it up. Where I gotta spend my precious money on face paints to make me look beautiful. Lest I be judged. The beauty of the blog is rawness, kind of. It's direct from horses mouths... or should that be hors.i...? I'm kidding.
I don't need to worry that it's not good enough, I don't need to worry that my thoughts, my ideas and ramblings aren't good enough because I don't shove this blog in peoples' faces. It's mine! I don't ask people to pay to read it, I don't ever expect people to read it and comment, and I get all shy inside when people I know have read it.
But fuck, you know. Perhaps pride in anything is misplaced because there's always someone out there who knows better, who can trash it, regardless of its sentimentality.
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| It's my turnDamn stalkers and their multiple cars and stupid fat faces.
I guess we keep learning things about ourselves, despite what I said below, I am capable of wishing certain people nothing but harm and badness for the rest of their days. Sometimes I have more of a reason than other times.
Well gee, you know, we're all moving on.
Everyone. EVERYONE.
Now, I have the time to sit on my garden swing, lay back and observe life pass me by.
People ask me what I want to do with my life, and I have the answer, but i'm embarrassed to say. This is when I need my alias most.
Perhaps I will.
There's a shit load of people around making all kinds of rubbish, and getting fuck loads of money for it.
It's my turn. No, it's our turn.
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| The answer to Scepticism.I AM SO SICK OF THIS.
I AM SO SICK OF THIS.
I AM SO SICK OF THIS.
I've just discovered the reason why anyone becomes a sceptic, and also, how people will always be sceptics!
I am sceptical because i'm around people who I doubt, and whom I have reason to doubt. I'm talking about anything, really. Whether it's a scummy work colleague, or a scummy friend, or member of my family. At some point or another, they ignited by doubt, and ignited a sense of mistrust. I am a woman, so I am intuitive, generally speaking. And I always trust my gut.
Anyway, unless the mistrust or doubt is truly surfaced by me, or the other party, unless it's brought into the open, and we've both talked about it, it will always be there. There's no call for it to ever be extinguished. Some people fancy that that's holding a grudge. But I say it's just knowing how rare it is for people to fundamentally change.
Other people are sceptical, because of similar reasons, whether they've been spoken to, or treated poorly, they're bound to form a complex, a simple complex, perhaps, but a complex nonetheless, about the kinds of people they can then trust. Hypothetically, if a lady marries a man and the man's mother keeps starting rumours among the rest of his family about her, then she grows to mistrust any of that man's family, regardless of how distant, or how separate they might be from the mother, herself.
Do you follow?
So there lies the root of all scepticism, it begins for a good reason, but transfers itself for no reason. And then it becomes - lacking in reason, lacking in logic. But the source of the mistrust, is valid.
All along, i've been worrying about my own scepticism, wondering where my faith has gone, wondering why I can't trust so-and-so, etc. When tonight it hit me, smack in the middle of a film, out of nowhere. I am not the one whose scepticism is truly destructive.
It's them, it's him. It's not me.
And all the behaviour of the other, is a result of their scepticisms. It becomes a little larger than a vicious circle, because it affects anyone, and everyone. It has the potential to become global. Everybody is affected by the scepticisms of everyone else. And instead of extinguishing this, what happens is that, they/I form a scepticism of my own, until everyone I know, I know only as someone who has the potential to hurt me.
And then I just shut down.
We all just shut down.
I stamp my foot at the bottom of my fucking rainbow. My God damn colourful faithful rainbow.
I refuse to be a victim of someone else's issues. I refuse to become sceptical of all alike, because one shallow bastard can't trust me enough to open his god damn mouth.
I will always maintain, people are people / people are shits. But they're also the people who rid me of loneliness, who hold me close and lie to my face, and make me feel better. Who compliment me when I'm sitting down for dinner, on the way I look, because I did make some god damn effort tonight, and somebody noticed. They're the people who tell me I can do this, or that, or that I should be proud, or that I am beautiful, or that I am lovely. Open or honest, vulnerable, unafraid, funny, shy, cute, and all the other things I still fail to see in myself. They're also the people whom I see all of this in, and more. Because just as they say all that to me, I see and say all that to them. People can be wonders. But they all have the potential to be shits, and I know that, completely now.
So I refuse to be affected by this. I refuse to become a sceptic, and know that I have passion enough for five let alone two. I can love, I do love, and I will love.
I mean come on. It's been a god damn burden, right.
I can't shake my ability to see people as wholes and love their sorry-asshole twatting selves. All as they are. Even if they do rip me to fucking shreds.
Every day.
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