I just managed to write a whole 2,500 words in less than an hour. I think I’m enjoying psychology far too much at the minute, and if i don’t get the whole 24 marks for this essay, which has a minimum of a mere 500 words, I will be so pissed. (I’m becoming a massive suck up, but i can’t be arsed with my teachers disliking me anymore.)
Also, going home early tomorrow because I miss my parents and they’re pretty angry with me for not waking up earlier to meet them at the border so it looks like i’m going to need to suck up to them too. Boo. And now i’m going to go make lists about what i need to do before, take, and what i’m going to do when I get to england, and then read more of the virgin suicides then get some rest for tomorrow. Life’s pretty good when you’re this productive (it won’t last.)
Unbeing Dead Isn't Being Alive.
I think I pay a cruel price for the life I dream to live and the clouds above us are our conscience sorted in motions, to awaken our mistakes and the truths of our lives to our eyes.
For whatever we lose, like a you or a me,
it is always ourselves we find in the sea.
