(no subject)
Word to your mothers.
So it's true. Bob can really make me an Elf. I cannot wait. I will soon begin to train and learn, prepare and practice. All I need now is a cape. And for my hair to grow. And porcelain white skin.
Oh, and immortality.
Nyah. I am wasting a lot of time. Frightening amounts of it. After these next paycheques, and once I have paid off my bills for the month, I will begin to get my life in order. Wisdom teeth will be removed. A cello will be purchased. A driver's license will be procured. Money will be set aside to pay back for loans, for school next year, and for my sister's wedding. My apathy and laziness have spread through way too many areas of my life, and I do not have a purpose because I have not worked to find one.
Talking to Haas on Monday made me realize to what extent I am failing myself. Right now I am getting by on the idea people have of me, and not on anything substantial that I am doing. I am hypocritical in my weakness. We are at war, and we are idle. And the capture of Saddam may actually boost holiday sales. The outside world feels cold to me, and I don't know why we all hate ourselves so much. Feed the suffering. Feed off of the suffering. This is perversion and the darkest period. And it is so much easier to let it slide, but how long can I live with a pick in my brain? What happened to discipline and perfection? Has decency ever existed? There are no longer quiet moments in time. Laziness is supported by every aspect of modern life, and it suits me way too well. It is so hard to work, so hard to push, so hard to keep going, when everything around me moulds to my body and soothes me to a numb sleep with flashing lights and colours. EVERYTHING FITS ME. And I don't have to do anything for myself. This has been a crust on my mind, and I have been picking at it for years. Years. And I am very afraid that in the end I will have failed.
We are surrounded by lucky people. We idolize them, and have raised them to unbelievable heights. There is always a hope that one day I, too, will get lucky. This dumb belief that if I keep getting by a little while longer, something REAL is going to happen. And we are being sold the idea, and we are buying it, buying into it. But I am impatient waiting, and I refuse to be kept waiting my whole life.
And I have realized that I have been wrong in saying and believing that I am sick of myself; instead, I am sick of myself as I am now.