Of course I'm excited.
I'm gona be 18 soon.
Happy Birthday to me. In three hours.
Three measly hours. Three hours in a day in a year and eighteen of those. Every minute filled with something amazing or something completely meaningless.
Eighteen soon. Happy Birthday lost childhood.
I don't feel like I'm about to turn eighteen. I know, but I don't feel. And there's always that feeling of being underappreciated the next day. That's also the day my exams start. Great, I'm going to study now.
I'm gona be eighteen. And I'm gona be eighteen... eighteen... eighteen. Right.
Here's a professional ball photo of me and my friends from a few months ago. My friend finally scanned and uploaded it... and I had a sudden urge to share it. Hope you guys like it.
Sat SATs today.
Blitzed the maths, I'm expecting a perfect score for that. Essay, confident it's at least a four... hoping for a six. Writing was alright, critical reading as also alright... would've done better if I managed my time better.
And, I only started studying for it yesterday lol. I had no idea about the format of a SAT test until I went and stayed at my friend's place last night and she exposed me to practice papers for the first time.
I think instead of trolling facebook as a form of effective procrastination, it's probably a bit more meaningful to write a journal entry.
Heart beating fast, and not liking it.
That's right, the world.
Yeah. I can't handle attachment.
Just wana say, a few days ago, out of light-heartedness and distraction for myself... my friend went clubbing. He binge ate Mc Donald's afterwards. Obviously no one told him it was a very potent mix with those overpriced smirnoff shots. We decided to be classy and sophisticated so we visited the rose gardens near his place at 3am for some fresh air. He felt a little heavy headed... and power chucked into them. Nom nom nom, there goes some fine-grown, beautiful, pristeen roses.
How could I do what I do. Fuck, I hate myself.
He's so beautiful.
I like the way his hair smells. How he leans his head on a shoulder, or curls his body next to mine. How he stares into my eyes. Or smiles way too much. Or just says the cutest and most silliest of things.
Except he probably doesn't know all of that. Even I don't really want to admit it. Because he likes me more than I like him. I'm sure. Sure.
What a horrendous term.
It's really not all that bad, but what is a journal if it isn't to vent a little bit?
The musical finished a week ago. We performed six shows. We've rehearsed for two whole terms. It was bloody hell worth it, such a rewarding experience getting to sing, act, dance and meeting new people. But it's also demanding. Sometimes I felt my life had just been drained out of me.
I met a boy who reminds me of myself when I was younger.
Busy weekend. Had musical rehearsal yesterday, on a Saturday. I realised I never actually said what musical we're doing - it's Beauty and the Beast. I'm officially dubbed a spoon... and a drunk man in the tavern scene... and male 8. Excellent. Getting picked up in about an hour for another four hour rehearsal.
A few things.
First, why is there not a heater in my room?
This is Auckland okay! And I know, it's probably not like Christchurch, or Canada or some obsecure country in northern europe, but I mean I'm still in the closest country to Antartica, and I don't have a heater in my room? Something is wrong, very wrong.
Maybe I should go get one. Time to binge spend a stash of my pocket money... on a heater.
So, decided I should go to bed.
Well, it's only 1am.
After almost nonstop working for the whole week since the start of school last Monday.
The end of these current assessments is near, actually more like the deadline is near and the finish line is no where in sight.
So tired. I must be screwing up my body in some horrid way or another. I pulled a 1am to 2am last night as well. Probably will happen tomorrow and Thursday too. In fact I think the workload won't decrease for the next ten weeks.
So haven't stopped working for the whole of Sunday.
And still can't finish everything.
Did a crappy job with my biology essay, haven't revised for physics tomorrow... and my chemistry report is in no way going to get done by Friday unless there be sleepless nights and endless weeping.
In love with a boy.
Someone I'll never be with.
Wednesday night, 11pm.
I think to write, to write convincingly no matter how trivial, serious or amusing, you must feel passionate or strongly about something (even if it's strong apathy). Something you believe in, or something that has provoked some sort of emotion in you. It must be genuinely felt. Even when you can relate to something, writing the transferred experiences are still never as convincing applied under speculation.
That's why sometimes I can't write.
I'm such a fucking retard.
Didn't register for this important test for university next year.
Oh well at least I have another chance next year.
That reminds me, better keep an eye on when the SATs are.
Fuck it, just getting so slack and unorganised.
Recently got back from Taiwan. Seeing the family. Too much to say. They're the same. A bit older.
People come to me for help. I'm so stressed. School started. Sleep deprived. Internals full fledged and no mercy.
God damn. Really want a proper update about my own life, but no time now.
Don't see this as a cry for help. I'm merely recounting my emotions.
Just haven't been a good week.
The whole prefect drama. That got me pretty down obviously, even with absolute overwhelming support of all my friends and peers at the college. Just feel so much injustice. One of my friends call it the censorship of a well-intentioned individual. My other friend calls it authoritarian. Everyone's been so supportive, and it gets me up, but I can't but feel down again after a while.
If they want to censor so much, why don't they just write our last words for us? Everyone thinks that.