Endings. And the fugly word I don't want to keep typing over and over but do so anyway.
Suddenly, everything is over. The monster I've long wanted to defeat (or did I?) is dead. The project I've long itched to finish (or did I?) is finished. The section and the paper I dedicated hours of sleepless nights to, in front of a computer (at the cost of my now higher contact lenses grade), obsessing whether "of" or "for" or "with" are the best prepositions to use in a particular sentence given its context, deliberating over principles and beliefs whether an idea and/or article is worth writing about and/or publishing or not, and perfecting every detail of a four-page section from the text, photos, and design -- it's over. At least for this school year. I have no regrets at all and ten years from now, I can look back and feel proud of what I accomplished, achieved, and also accumulated during the past, more or less, ten months. I'm relieved that "it" is over, officially, as of Tuesday 2:30AM, but gawd, call this strange, but I miss it ALL already.
Yes, I am a workaholic (translation: I have no life). Some days ago, a good friend made me realize and forced me to admit to myself that. It took a few days for me to as I kept myself in denial. The root of it, I later on realized. But a workaholic? Me? It was silly. Pretty hard to digest because I knew more people out there worked harder, slept less, and obsessed more than I did or maybe ever could tolerate. It's scary, really. Am I really one of them? Yikes.
Goodbyes are in the air. Even if they're not said, they're there, just lazily floating about almost all of the closest friends I've made throughout my whole college life, compelling me (yes, compelling me) to be all gooey inside and sentimental. Of course I deny myself this mush too but I always lose anyway so sometimes I ask myself why bother denying when I'll give in anyway? Haha! Yep, goodbyes are in the air. I hate it. SOOO much. All the more because goodbyes entail a parting and I ain't good with that kind of thing. Seperation issues, I guess. That I won't deny. Okay. Lemme promise one thing: I will not cry during the two ceremonies I am most likely going to attend on the last two days of March (if I break my promise though, please don't call me a girl).
Endings foreshadow beginnings. Scary ones. Time flies, true. One day you're (secretly) shaking at the daunting responsibilities ahead, which you wanted and got. The next thing you know, you're (reluctantly, almost with a heavy heart) letting them go and working hard to get brand new responsibilities. But for what? I heard or read this somewhere (probably from "Grey's Anatomy"): "Why do we like to beat ourselves or allow someone/something to beat our heads when it hurts so much? Because it feels so damn good when the beating stops."
The beating is about to stop (or has already stopped). When will the part come when I'll start feeling damn good that it's stopped? Has it passed without me even noticing and indulging in it? Strange. And yet here I am, asking for something to beat my head with or someone to beat my head with something. Am I crazy? I remember wanting to just throw it all way and "let it go" white it beat my head. What's going on? Maybe it's an ending that's crazy -- that's driving me crazy.
I'll shut up now at risk of possibly typing the letters g-o-o-d-b-y-e and e-n-d-i-n-g-s AGAIN! Bitter, yes. Hyper, yes. Crazy, very.
Yes, I am a workaholic (translation: I have no life). Some days ago, a good friend made me realize and forced me to admit to myself that. It took a few days for me to as I kept myself in denial. The root of it, I later on realized. But a workaholic? Me? It was silly. Pretty hard to digest because I knew more people out there worked harder, slept less, and obsessed more than I did or maybe ever could tolerate. It's scary, really. Am I really one of them? Yikes.
Goodbyes are in the air. Even if they're not said, they're there, just lazily floating about almost all of the closest friends I've made throughout my whole college life, compelling me (yes, compelling me) to be all gooey inside and sentimental. Of course I deny myself this mush too but I always lose anyway so sometimes I ask myself why bother denying when I'll give in anyway? Haha! Yep, goodbyes are in the air. I hate it. SOOO much. All the more because goodbyes entail a parting and I ain't good with that kind of thing. Seperation issues, I guess. That I won't deny. Okay. Lemme promise one thing: I will not cry during the two ceremonies I am most likely going to attend on the last two days of March (if I break my promise though, please don't call me a girl).
Endings foreshadow beginnings. Scary ones. Time flies, true. One day you're (secretly) shaking at the daunting responsibilities ahead, which you wanted and got. The next thing you know, you're (reluctantly, almost with a heavy heart) letting them go and working hard to get brand new responsibilities. But for what? I heard or read this somewhere (probably from "Grey's Anatomy"): "Why do we like to beat ourselves or allow someone/something to beat our heads when it hurts so much? Because it feels so damn good when the beating stops."
The beating is about to stop (or has already stopped). When will the part come when I'll start feeling damn good that it's stopped? Has it passed without me even noticing and indulging in it? Strange. And yet here I am, asking for something to beat my head with or someone to beat my head with something. Am I crazy? I remember wanting to just throw it all way and "let it go" white it beat my head. What's going on? Maybe it's an ending that's crazy -- that's driving me crazy.
I'll shut up now at risk of possibly typing the letters g-o-o-d-b-y-e and e-n-d-i-n-g-s AGAIN! Bitter, yes. Hyper, yes. Crazy, very.