I still believe that I cannot be saved

What an indescribably huge waste of time. I can't believe I got up for this. And bloody mohawk boy wasn't even there. Like I said - Waste.Of.Time. Am on the train home, left in the break - I DON'T CARE. God. We keep repeating ourselves, hardly anyone shows up, and personally I've never found workshopping to be all that useful. So I figure I'd rather go home and write my piece for submission as opposed to wasting everyone's time.

My tutor is however insane, so she might bite my head off. Shall email when I get home as counter measure.

I was eavesdropping on some conversations earlier and I now have my doubts over securing a supervisor for Honours. I better write that proposal this weekend and send it off to the guy I want. He might go for it, who knows.

Some days the only thing that makes sense in this world, that grounds me and makes me feel less insane and out of place, is Green Day.

That said, my soul has the temprament of a Brand New song. Those are the qualities of the thoughts that hide in the quiet recess of my mind.

Oh and it happened again last night. Checking the discussion board for any novel workshopping pieces, what do I spy at the bottom of the screen but J. Harkness' piece. He must have done the subject last semester. It's a sci fi piece too. Ironic. Surely the boy must realise...

Ah well, whatever. I'm so frustrated with everything at the moment.

I want to go to the Impressionist exhibit at the state gallery this week. I'm rather fond of impressionist art, it has an element of tranquility to it. Perhaps Wednesday. Gives me something other than fucking workshopping to focus on. Fuck knows I'm going to be stressed enough for Screenwriting, I need all the incentive I can get to actually go to class.

Grumble.

-

It's quite exciteable.
Must be your aftershave.
Never wear any.
You smell like that naturally?
Fifty first century pheromones. You people have no idea.

Music: Bullet with Butterfly Wings - Smashing Pumpkins
Mood: Annoyed