Wind me up and watch me go.
I FUCKING GIVE UP ON NANOWRIMO. I HAVE TO STUDY, DAMMIT. I HATE NCEA.
Final word count: 18, 945 words. Most of them written today.
I didn't even get to the halfway mark. My fingers ache and my eyeballs hurt, and I'm fucking giving up.
The universe plots against me.
Constantly.
Watching.
Plotting.
Tormenting.
I hate this.
You know what doesn't help? Today was the last full day of school. That just means I am that much closer to leaving. A month and 6 days; yes, I counted. I don't want to leave. Perhaps if I repeat that enough, it'll come true. Perhaps somehow, my father will die and I'll get all the money I need. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. The whole world revolves around 'perhaps'. Perhaps the sun won't rise, perhaps the ice caps won't melt, perhaps the dodo won't go extinct.
And in the midst of all that if-ing and um-ing and guessing, there's me. Stuck with my fantasies. Stupid fantasies. Fantasies I should know better than to make. But I can't stop myself, I never have. I think of stupid things. Then I tell myself that they're not stupid, that they could happen, that perhaps (there's that word again)- just perhaps, things will work out my way, and I'll get to live those idiotic fantasies out.
WRONG.
All of it. Wrong, stupid, pointless, worthless, not worth bothering.
I hate this.
All of this.
Even more than I hate homophobes.
I don't want to leave.
I don't want to leave.
I don't want to leave.
I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave.
:sigh:
Wishful thinking, perhaps?
Final word count: 18, 945 words. Most of them written today.
I didn't even get to the halfway mark. My fingers ache and my eyeballs hurt, and I'm fucking giving up.
The universe plots against me.
Constantly.
Watching.
Plotting.
Tormenting.
I hate this.
You know what doesn't help? Today was the last full day of school. That just means I am that much closer to leaving. A month and 6 days; yes, I counted. I don't want to leave. Perhaps if I repeat that enough, it'll come true. Perhaps somehow, my father will die and I'll get all the money I need. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. The whole world revolves around 'perhaps'. Perhaps the sun won't rise, perhaps the ice caps won't melt, perhaps the dodo won't go extinct.
And in the midst of all that if-ing and um-ing and guessing, there's me. Stuck with my fantasies. Stupid fantasies. Fantasies I should know better than to make. But I can't stop myself, I never have. I think of stupid things. Then I tell myself that they're not stupid, that they could happen, that perhaps (there's that word again)- just perhaps, things will work out my way, and I'll get to live those idiotic fantasies out.
WRONG.
All of it. Wrong, stupid, pointless, worthless, not worth bothering.
I hate this.
All of this.
Even more than I hate homophobes.
I don't want to leave.
I don't want to leave.
I don't want to leave.
I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave.
:sigh:
Wishful thinking, perhaps?