This is how I'm supposed to be

I haven’t felt this disenfranchised in months. It’s funny, every time I think I’ve turned over a proverbial new leaf in my life, little tendrils curl around my ankle and remind me of their existence. I don’t know why I continue to delude myself; you cannot change fundamental aspects of your personality. It’s like stepping in gum, you’re walking along all fine and dandy then suddenly your foot catches and it’s all uncomfortable and annoying.

Thinking too much is not fun. Don’t listen to your teachers, kids. Be stupid and oblivious, blunder through life never leaving your suburban existence. It’s easier. There’s nothing out here, being clever and well read, informed and in-touch…it’s all highly overrated. There’s no satisfaction. And you know what’s funny, we all feel it. Not just mere mortals like me running around trying to have some vague show of a life, but people we admire. Artists, writers, musicians. Ah creative types. Says something doesn’t it.

Someone needs to do a scientific study on the link between disatisfaction and melancholy, and creative expression. I bet there’s a lot there. Most influential and revered creative people in the past were manic depressive and/or suicidal. Tragic really, to be able to capture the best (and worst) of humanity and never feeling satisfied. Never feeling a part of it. Never feeling like justice could be done to it. Just existing in a bubble of self imposed feelings of failure and disappointment.

Ah well. I ramble. Key is not to think about this stuff.

You have no idea what it’s like to live in this head of mine. Eloquence escapes me, words rendered useless and futile. And to think something I have unwittingly decided to dedicate my life to can be so utterly useless…always failing, stumbling at the edge, faltering on the fringes of coherency. Words always fail when they are most needed, when you need to get it all out there, to make sense of yourself. Can’t be done through words. The inside of my head is a wave of destruction, the clean up after the storm. It’s Kansas during tornado season. Sometimes you get lucky, and no storms hit, but they will come. They will tear it apart. Nothing will change that, it’s futile to fight nature.

I do believe I just freaked my dad out. I’m sitting at the dining room table in the vain hope it would inspire more productivity than the bomb site that is my room, and he decides to pop up behind me and see what I’m doing. Of course, it wasn’t uni work, oh no, I was trawling pages of Torchwood icons (because I am, and probably always will be, a total icon whore)…and being Torchwood, there were what my cousin would call “kissing icons” on the page. Cue his *confused face*. Poor thing. Being my parent must offer some unique challenges.

Mum sent me out to Flight Centre to pick up our Trafalgar things this afternoon. Soooo we’ve got the Europe tour and an Ireland tour. Well Ireland's first. I’m going to freeze my ass off, but it should be good. I’m new to the whole Coach tour experience, but it should be interesting. We’ll be in London for two days in between tours, so I can meet up with Abbi. Might possibly only be leaving on the 24th of December. Depends on ze flights.

Sigh.

Every part of me objects to having to do uni work. Bah.

Music: Jesus of Suburbia - Green Day
Mood: Apathetic is putting it mildly