GODAMMIT. this book i just read was great but everyone you ended up loving died. you were told this before you even finished the first chapter but you read the damn book anyway. the difference is that in the first chapter, you didn't love the characters. but by the end you're a complete mess. it makes me angry, things don't have happy endings but that doesn't mean you don't love them all the same. maybe it's because i'm deteriorating. "just keep moving" is my solution now. i will never understand the holocaust as long as i live. world war two even. no matter how many history courses i take, in french or not. or the stupid pink post-it note bookmark that i barely used. don't you wish you could be absorbed into a moment? and that could be your heaven. not some proverbial cloud sealed off with golden gates. himmel. not even the recycling of souls. people never leave them in a good enough state to be reused anyhow. this isn't making any sense but hell, i'm waking up in moments and forgettings how i got there. time has boiled over and is melting on all reason. i don't understand stress or urgency. i wish you wouldn't make opinions on this. i don't even want to think about what anyone will think. fifteen and then sixteen and then so on and so forth. it's never too late to make your life matter. to make yourself memorable. but you need to remember how got here and what made that journey possible and if applicable, the catalyst. it's okay if you forget though. you just won't feel it as much as you would have if you didn't.

i suppose it could be from getting nightmares from playing too much minesweeper. strange that you learn the most about colours when you read about death. and you know instantly that i'm either from the uk, or some commonwealth country by the way i spell certain words. if it really mattered enough, you could read a little deeper into things. i don't understand much but it's easier when you see people as chemicals. oil and water both have chemical formulas but you can't mix them. one is a polar molecule and the other isn't. this metaphor is becoming too literal to make any sense. i'm not good at much, but i try anyway. i'm more of a wooster than a jeeves. there is a great difference between personality and brains. if i don't go to sleep now, it won't qualify as early anymore.

hopes&dreams are afflictions. motivation is just another form of aggravation. i don't want to be home anymore. i'm scared of math and chemistry. i might mess up some more and my grades won't go up. i'm sick of being recycled, i just want to throw myself away. i don't want a future that is any less than my "hopes&dreams." nothing else matters to me and i'm still nowhere near it. i keep getting worse and i keep trying harder. i know what tyler durden said about self-improvement. but self-destruction just lands you in the damn psych ward.

I'm completely in love with Sherlock Holmes now. I guess I owe that to my love for House. David Shore based the entire character on Holmes. I'm going crazy with ambition and the fear of inadequacy. It's consuming me and I'm worried that it's not strong enough. I don't know how good is good enough, because my best isn't the best. When you're getting by on just being smart enough, it's a shock to your system when you break that trend. It makes me anxious a lot, but I suppose in the long it'll show some results. In the meantime, I'll slave away with my colourful post-it notes and binder dividers. There is no cure.

animal farm is pretty much the saddest book ever. they sent boxer off to be turned into glue! he was the best out of them all! that stupid pig, napoleon. they went back on all their commandments. i hate the russian revolution, stupid communism. words don't come to me anymore because i don't know how to use them. it's hit and miss, mostly. and i'm scared of off-days and moving targets.