I hate.hate.HATE writing essays. With every fiber of my soul I HATE writing them. I can't.can't.can't form a thesis. I can't find the flow of argument. This book is too contradictory and too complex for an introspective essay. I hate it. I hate it that as soon as I think that I have a grasp on what this College's damn English department wants from me, they throw a new challenge - something even more out-of-this-world-ly than the previous one. This is sick. So sick, it pains me to think of it.
С трудом продираюсь через векторную геометрию пространства. В панике, что мне осталось решить еще добрые сорок задач к завтрашним 6 вечера, написать сочинение на среду и решить какие-то десять-пятнадцать задач по физике, заглянула в физику. Как же мне приятно смотреть на задачи и поводить плечами: "Ах, это всего лишь вторая производная!" и "Ах, ну это же векторные проекции!" А потом спокойно закрывать физику и переходить на математику, потому что самым сложным заданием этой недели будет написать интроспективное эссе про восстание Сатаны в "Потерянном Рае" Мильтона и нагнать материалы по экономике. Да и то: с экономикой Мансур вызвался помочь.
My councelor keeps asking if I have suicidal thoughts. How would I? My life is so brilliant and interesting, it would be a shame if it is lost. Or never written down.
I know what is the problem. I feel that I screwed up my life, and there is no way out. I feel that there is good in my future, but my past in irreconcilably messed up. I want my life not to be like a movie, but I cannot help boredom otherwise.
Early January 2013 I said my final good beye to Brad. I finally felt enough distance between him and I to tell him the truth: he is behind, and he is dragging me along.