(no subject)
20 minutes talking about islamic headscarves, women at work, the glass ceiling, urban nightmares and secularism (i mean, laicism) in garbled french got me 55 out of 60. Score.
Elsewhere, I am feeling quite the not good. I feel like my head is about to fall off, roll on the floor and settle ironically near the wastepaper bin. But hey, who needs a life anyway? I'm starting to give up all hope of being able to act normally again, since odd periods of tiredness, uncontrollable shaking and nausea crop up whenever I really don't need them. So, this is me, feeling isolated and not having gone out for 1 month and 19 days. Who's counting?
I'm not going to be there for the last photos at school, because I'll be having a look round LSE. This is a fact that really shouldn't irk me, but nevertheless does. I'm one of those annoyingly sentimental, nostalgic types (English translation: can't throw things away. Even old NMEs) that needs to do everything for posterity's sake. This includes sixth form photos - everyone will have a print, look back in -- year's time and I won't be there. I really shouldn't be wanting desperately to prove that I exist, but I'm pretty forgettable. It's like in Amelie when they're making guesses as to who the man in all the torn-up passport photos is - I can't rely on being remembered, I have to force my mugshot into a picture so I'll exist. If I could be one of those people who doesn't care whether people like them or not, that would be the best thing that could ever happen. As it is, I'm starting to sound a little pathetic, so now I can point a finger at a) my parents, b) society or c) god in typical victim-society style. Hooray.
Something tells me I'll haunt people when I'm dead.
Elsewhere, I am feeling quite the not good. I feel like my head is about to fall off, roll on the floor and settle ironically near the wastepaper bin. But hey, who needs a life anyway? I'm starting to give up all hope of being able to act normally again, since odd periods of tiredness, uncontrollable shaking and nausea crop up whenever I really don't need them. So, this is me, feeling isolated and not having gone out for 1 month and 19 days. Who's counting?
I'm not going to be there for the last photos at school, because I'll be having a look round LSE. This is a fact that really shouldn't irk me, but nevertheless does. I'm one of those annoyingly sentimental, nostalgic types (English translation: can't throw things away. Even old NMEs) that needs to do everything for posterity's sake. This includes sixth form photos - everyone will have a print, look back in -- year's time and I won't be there. I really shouldn't be wanting desperately to prove that I exist, but I'm pretty forgettable. It's like in Amelie when they're making guesses as to who the man in all the torn-up passport photos is - I can't rely on being remembered, I have to force my mugshot into a picture so I'll exist. If I could be one of those people who doesn't care whether people like them or not, that would be the best thing that could ever happen. As it is, I'm starting to sound a little pathetic, so now I can point a finger at a) my parents, b) society or c) god in typical victim-society style. Hooray.
Something tells me I'll haunt people when I'm dead.