Game of Thrones high

"I learned that I'll never win. Not that way. That's their game. Their rules. I'm not going to fight them. I'm going to fuck them. That's what I know. That's what I am. And only by admitting what we are can we get what we want."

Petyr Baelish

Pfff

I'm bored out of my mind. And I know only boring people get bored, but I just don't care anymore. Mostly I'm bored because I'm too lazy to do anything, or it could be I no longer find anything exciting enough to be worth me getting out of bed for. I listened to Carmen but I already know most of it. I cooked some spicy stuff, but I'm no longer impressed with my kitchen skills. I browsed around ebay and couldn't find anything to spend more money on. The stuff I do have to do, like write an email to my professor or finish my huge reporting piece, well, they scare and bore me at the same time. I don't know what I want to do with my time. Maybe I'm a bit lonely. Maybe love has made me soft and sort of clingy. I don't like myself like I used to and I give more fucks than I used to. I try to repeat mantras in my head. Telling myself only I can choose to be happy, that I have no real problems and they're all in my head. But at least worrying makes me feel alive. Whereas this dull happiness I'm experiencing lately may just as well be a symptom of depression. I have no big plan and I'm not part of anything great. I can't live like this anymore and yet I can't move a finger. I know life eventually pushes me into stuff. I'll get to some redecorating one of these days and I'll hopefully get in for PhD. I'll keep waking up each morning, going to work, going, going, going, when all I want is to sit still and stare at the wall. The Two of Spades is all about how I feel right now. That inertia. That lack of purpose and real drive. Love yanks me out of it from time to time, it's an occasional oasis in the desert I get lost in every day around my head. But until I let it rain, I will not find the path, for the desert swallows any footstep or direction sign.

Diary lines

Funny how I keep revolving around the same things when I'm writing. It's the last day of summer (again) and I'm planning (again) to start writing more about what I do than what I feel. Like recipes. And movies, books, concerts. Travel. Whatever. Thing is when these things happen I'm too busy to write about it. When I sit in front of the posting screen I'm usually trying to pull out of me stuff I don't wanna annoy my friends on the phone about. The internet is my confessional. But maybe I will. Maybe I'll learn to share opinions without trying to keep it on safe grounds, maybe I'll be the queen of my castle and just not give a damn.
I'm pretty bored right now, although there's plenty of work waiting for me. I've got articles and letters to write and things to plan out. I might be applying for a social worker job in a mental hospital. I may not make it to PhD, as none of the details for the exam have been announced yet. I spent my day doing field work and housework and in between I watched a couple Sailor Moon episodes. I meditated over how now I'm a highly functioning adult. I submitted an application for the youth housing program of the local administration. I a few years, I might get to buy a place of my own at a really low price. And I even have my eyes on a housing project they just came up with. Granted it gets to be done.
A highly functioning adult, all right. I'm dieting (one thing I once promised myself I would never do) and keeping myself away from booze this autumn. However, friends keep calling to plan out a bar hopping session for this weekend. The safe bet would be to go to the mountains with my folks. Cheaper, healthier and tailored for the peace of my mind. I got some Steinbeck novels from the flea market, I'd love myself a lazy afternoon in the hammock with those. What to do?
I miss school. I've been attending education institutions since I was three. Back to school is the synonym of fresh starts for me, it's a do over, it's my brain's equivalent to what spring is to my body. I know it's a bit dull that my rhythms have been dictated by such conventional schedules. I've never seen school like a brainwashing machine because I've been changing schools every few years. This way I met so many kids and so many teachers, so many ways of seeing the world. Having the best of those share their personal wonders with me was worth sitting in a bench and keeping quiet. Being a non-conformist didn't have that much weight for me, since I've been an outsider all along. I didn't do things just to piss people off or to make them notice me. I did things because I wanted to. So I was a nice girl when I wanted to and I was a blabbermouth drunk just as well. But I've always been a good student. And that was maybe one of the things I partially did to stand out and not just because I liked it. I value education and knowledge and I'd rather like these to be the criteria people judge me on than appearance or the stupid things I do at times.

I never learn

Feeling good was good enough for me once. But lately I find myself in a damn weird place. The only thing that gets my blood running is worrying. Not excitement. And I want to be excited. I want to be excited about my love and I want to be excited about my work. But all I do is get angry and worry. I don't even miss anyone anymore. I just worry the fragile equilibrium I'm relying on for now won't last. I worry I made bad choices. I worry I settled for less. I worry I betrayed myself. No excitement whatsoever.
Is this how it's supposed to be? Yesterday a guy dropped by our office to tell me more about his expedition in the Himalayas and as I listened to him I kept wondering if I was ever that passionate about anything. And then. And then I met this girl I knew and she asked me about my plans and I started talking about wanting to apply to PhD and the kind of research I want to be involved in. And as I walked away I had the grin on my face. That was it. That was my thing. It was what made me sound just like that guy. It wasn't love and it wasn't home design. It was my academic interest that spurred my excitement. It was the only thing that got my blood rushing in a long time. It's what I've always wanted. And I'm not going to dumb myself down for anyone. I'm going on on that path. If they don't want me, I'll go elsewhere. For me study and research were not just steps in my career. They were it, what I wanted to do, what made me tick.
And still, what do I worry about all day? Is that shirt going to match those jeans? Why hasn't he called yet? Am I going to be done with that article by the end of the day? When all this is supposed to be just background noise. I gave up on myself. But I just pray to goddess this fall I'll get the nerve to pick myself up and go where I belong. In an environment where I can grow. Learn. And be me.

Yet another late night call

I cannot make sense of things unless I write about them. My soulmate was right all along. I should write a book. It might be the only thing that could help. I come from a world that is nothing like anyone else's. I come from a world of words. A world of sunshine. Where I can only relate to ideas I find in the depth of randomness. I will never be a person of talent. Or creation. But maybe, just maybe. I could write about the fucked up things that come my way. For one moment in time my making sense of them could open up new horizons for others. I am what I am. I am made of love and understanding and I can build from there or dig to levels you couldn't even picture. But. But. But I need a starting point. Give me something to believe in. For once. Because love just doesn't do it for me anymore.

Forever stumbling

This morning, when I was walking to work, I thought to myself "I have it all". I have a job I like most days, a place of my own, a good education, great friends, and now a boyfriend who makes me happy. But then, along the way, I got inexplicably sad. And I've been trying to shake that sadness all day. I think it's again because I somehow feel I should be doing more for the things I have. Preferably, I should be perfect. But being a more committed journalist would do. And finally getting to decorate my place and maybe clean more often. And really be there for my friends, no matter what I'm doing at the moment. And write my damn project proposal for PhD. And not suck at being a girlfriend. And as much as I regret being too lazy to work on these things, there's still people who think I'm wasting myself away with them.

My mother thinks I should be looking for some sort of husband material. And my peers think I should continue my studies abroad. And some of my friends think I should do better for myself than a low-paying newspaper job. And so on and so forth. But what do "I" want? I pretty much like what I've got.
I love plans, but I don't have a five year plan and I don't even have a one year plan. I don't know where all this is going and I wish I knew, but so far I know I've done my best. I didn't do the best job I could do and I wasn't perfect at any of these. But given the context and everything coming together, considering the things I've been through and the ways I chose to handle them, I think I did good. All right, I didn't do my best. But I did good. And I'm still tired and I still need a break and I can't do my best for all of these things, cause that would mean not doing my best for myself. Not giving myself a break. Not telling myself it's not a tragedy if I screw up sometimes. Not allowing myself to have fun once in a while. So I may not have direction and I may not have a constant pace. I may forever stumble, but I get places and I get shit done. I know I'll do better for myself. But Rome wasn't built in a day.

The good old hypocrite syndrome

Here it is, back to haunt me. Maybe I have this House thing going on. I just can't perform the way I used to when I fall for someone. I become the insecure child I used to be, the one who had to earn everything but no matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough for me to believe I deserve the good things that were happening to me. So I adapted. I changed skin according to whom I had to impress or accommodate. I turned into who I thought my teachers, my friends, by boyfriends wanted me to be. And at some point I got tired and I said to myself, hey, what if the only one I had to make proud was me? And now I'm betraying that girl that I grew to be in these last couple of years. It used to be peace and quiet in my head and sometimes, yes, I'd wanna fall in love. But it tears me apart that I'm this vulnerable and easy to put down.
Instead of writing about how happy and excited I am, I'm already looking for trouble all on my own. And it's not the others that try to change me, it's this desperate need I have to fit perfectly, like a puzzle piece. And I could never. Not anywhere. I've built such a distinct personality, around so many stories and with so many details, that it can no longer be turned around. All I can do is enjoy the ride and know I'll fall right back on my feet no matter what happens. It's true I'm having wine all alone with my cat two weeks after I met him. That I'm lonely and I was actually wishing I would be. That I need my time alone and I need my I love yous to the same extent. It's all true. If I'm gonna keep being friends with my boring ass, I should at least be honest to it.