I have no idea.
It's a good thing though, I think. You can tell my periods of relative sanity with the large gaping holes of missing journal entries on Live Journal. You know... when I don't really have much to emote--or time to, at least.
Oh, Lord she's writing again.
Thing's have been going alright, I guess. I'm not stressed as hell, nor am I particularly challenged. Going to school is like eating without taste buds or smell. That's what Junior year is basically: a bland necessity. I'll have to admit Sophomore year was a dramatic son-of-a-bitch but at least it had a story. Even if it was pretty childish and naive. I get ashamed sometimes. But then that's stupid. A person can't keep regretting what she did in the past. You can't be indignant with your youth, you fucking hypocrite.
It just sucks cause I really thought I knew everything. Slap, slap, slap to the face.
But I've had someone to talk to. A really good friend from high places, I like to say. It's such an amazing feeling to meet a kindred spirit. And he's influencing me to start getting ready for college and shit. Well, he's talking about it and my natural competitive nature feels compelled to do something too. God, college. I don't know why it's harder for me to get into preparing and researching. Maybe because I don't fucking know about my future. I swear, I worked harder in elementary school to get into high school.
Honestly, my reasons for coming back to Live Journal aren't entirely sincere. Figured it might help me, you know? All my classes besides AP Bio are a joke man. One big HAHA. Precalc with Rackow, BritLit with Murphy, and Chem with Camp (DEAR LORD BIND THAT WOMAN'S MOUTH). The teachers are alright, but coming from a year with Gutmann, Dr. Nina, Jefferson, Ameruoso... I was really thinking. And now, I'm not. But I can't complain... At least I don't have AP Calc.
Main point is that I'm not writing anymore. And I figure that's something a person has to develop when they're gonna be writing college applications pretty soon . And I actually want to make a name for myself by going to one of those elite, Ivy league schools. There's a lot of people I have to make proud (myself included) and a lot of people I want to indirectly slap in the face. "Yes, daddy, I did this without your help." "Yes, maybe I'm not that pretty or tall or rich, but I'm a hell of a lot smarter than you."
And maybe by writing again I'll find who the hell I am. Yes, it's a common theme from my previous posts. Unfortunately, I still don't know. But I'm pretty content with working right now. My libido's under control. I've lost the weight I wanted, but I still want to lose more. The scale refuses to budge, but even then I'm alright. I'm not a stressed as I thought I'd be.
Since I started that Philosophy leap with Gutmann my mind's been boggled. I'm in love with Gutmann, honestly. And Plato makes me feel sad about the human race. Shameful of this generation. However, I do have to give credit for its open-mindedness. OBAMA-RAMA!) My brain hurts.
Why do I have to season my self up for institutions and careers? Why for other people? Why can't I just transcend time and matter and the heavenly bodies and soak myself in these ideas, ideas, ideas? Which one, in the end, matters then? This reality--where the ignorant work and make money and ultimately survive-- or truth, where people can contemplate and know and in the end come home to an empty plate.
I don't fucking know. I wanna get drunk and make out.
Off to SAT prep!