It’s the second time I pound on my netbook. It doesn’t work properly, and I am annoyed. But now I really do my best, in straighten up my current mood. Frankly speaking, I am in a very stagnant state of mind. I really am. I feel unbalance. Sighing and sighing, exhaling in deep. Why do I have to live the life, I mean, on every phase of life? Especially this, the most boring circumstance in life?
Really, it’s not about I am willing to die, or any reason related to end up life by cutting off the fate. It’s also, not about I am unable expressing gratitude to God. It is just too quiet. I mean, life was never so flat like this. No excitement. No tension.
Then I confess, I get bored on everything. My daily routines are too static. It gets me nowhere, I mean it. I go to campus, read some literatures in the library. Then go get meals, then lose appetite on everything I eat. Then go back to a house that is not mine. Then go sleeping. And I do it again and again and again, everyday, in routine.
Every tasty food I ate, every detail on fabric I touched, every color I saw, every scent I smell, and every laughter and tears I made every day, all dreary. And I’ve never wanted to experience this tedious situation, neither had I wished to God. I am now, less of everything.
Back to one and a half year ago, this situation was ever happened to me. And I think Oh my Holy God, it’s really happening again! I was just fucked up and tired of being hanging on the wheel every day. And now, been days I am in that current situation. Once again, the time pulled me back to those solitude days.
For God’s sake, all I need is you! Yes, you! Surprises! Lots of you, surprises!
So many lies I’ve been told to the world, that I am fine, fucking fine. That I am all okay. That I don’t mind being a robotic-inhuman-lovely-doll. And in the moment like this, the imagination outgrows. I don’t want to be insane. My body is here but my mind isn’t. I occasionally do this quixotic behavior, in order to run away from this boring situation. But now imagination is no more attractive. Real world and fantasy seems similar. Now I appraise both as intangibles.
Maybe I am the sickest girl on Earth, but who cares about me and what I will be? I do life by me, myself. I feel love by me too, myself. Do I ask anything for everything I did in return? Or maybe I have to be pushy to everyone I knew, just to satisfy myself? And oh, will I be obviously satisfied? Maybe it is just too tiresome for me, to feel everything in concept. I mean my concept. To let me die while others can smile.
If I am a heroine in my own plot of life, truly I can get through this.
But, Did I ever tell you that I am such a loser? If I yelled at you a lot about how great and happy I am, I lied.
I am now, a loser, fucked up, mentally ill, lack of happiness, and totally had rotten life. I crave bombshells, but I don’t want everything I had disappeared. I love life, even I just can get rid of it sometimes. I love myself, even sometimes I hate what I have to do, not what I really want to do.
boring life, boring person, lonesome. makes sense?