Blind mice
So Bank Holiday weekend officially bought me an extra long weekend. Not that it has yielded any activity so far. Boredom is honestly quite pitiful. I have insane amounts of work to complete as per usual. But I feel far too restless to sit down at a desk and forcibly open a Psych textbook. You'd have to strap me to the table leg or something. Or lock me away in the cupboard downstairs. Anything to keep me away from this dratted computer. Someone up there must really love me seeing as I tend to
walk around college with my eyes shut most of the time yet I seem to get away with decent grades-procrastinating as much as possible-of course.
So I digress. Yes. Boredom is really quite a pitiful thing. We scream, bitch, moan, throw things, yes, anything to show our discontent and yet we never really realise how much time we lose in every milisecond that we sit here and complain until it's too late or someone's jumped off a cliff. Or something. And before you know it, your self-worth has shot to hell and you're slaughtering yourself to death back at square numero uno. I like to think of it as 'limbo mode'. That's EXACTLY how I'm functioning right now. I'm sure I could write something of more substance if I put my mind to it but nothing penetrates my brain these days except the issue with men.
My French boy wants me to go to Paris this July. You have no idea how much this sketches me out. Travelling by yourself over here is sketchy. Heck, I've never travelled alone outside of fucking Taunton. Let alone a foreign city. And something tells me I don't particularly want to get raped and beaten before I've even graduated from uni. So I dunno.
I was going to give Samuel the third degree today about what we're doing but an impromptu band practise thwarted my plans. I can't even determine whether or not we're even friends right now. Wednesday was weird as hell. And Friday was strangely flirty. Ick.
I think I've just figured out it will always be this way.