Just no. A million times no. A zillion times no.
How could I get another failed grade? Especially since I had enough points.
I’ve always had it easy to pass exams and assignments, as long as it involves memorizing, but the moment it comes to advanced thinking, I’m lost.
What is advanced thinking?
I don’t know. I just made it up, but it’s probably something like… I don’t know, I can’t put words on it.
I’m a writer, but certain things, certain areas of life, have been covered up with a dark marker. I can stare at them as much as I want, but my gaze won’t erase the marks. My eyes aren’t magic.
Anything I can see, I can make sense of fairly easily, but the things I can’t… and I don’t necessarily mean visible vs invisible — it’s another type of sight, more about what I can see in my mind.
I can imagine the structure of the universe, but darkness covers my inner eyes when it comes to those parts that are hidden.
Why don’t I see? Alien eyes?
Or alien brain.
Things that are obvious to other people are incomprehensible to me, and at the same time I don’t know if I have anything to compensate with, something I know and other people don’t.
No matter what, there is always someone who knows more, and in the end there isn’t much I can contribute with, if anything at all.
All I have is my thoughts, but…
Ironically, I like to see myself as smart and accomplished when it comes to thinking — until I try to do university assignments.
Academia is good, I like it, but I also feel like it’s crap for people like me.
What is people like me? I’ve asked myself that question many times in my life, and never reached a conclusion.
An alien being
Or a cyborg. Who knows.
I’m good at writing, I think.
Honestly, though, I can’t say for sure whether what I write is interesting or not, for certain reasons.
I wish quitting (uni) was an option. Then I wouldn’t have to feel this way. But then again, that’s not true at all, because I would still have to function in society.
Ah, the pressure of society
Since I’m moving to Canada, I feel an extra pressure to function like a normal person — something I’ve never truly done before.
I’ve had temporary jobs, and while they were fine for the time being, I could tell that it wasn’t sustainable.
One of them was a summer job, but with an extension to hours after. I left it after having to spend a whole day with a guy who wouldn’t give me instructions, scolded me for the things I didn’t understand, and blamed me for being unable to see in the dark.
The darkness was literal, but serves as a perfect analogy for the rest.
For the sake of our happiness
I want to be able to function as a normal person for the sake of our happiness. Me and my future husband.
While he isn’t pressuring me, I am pressuring myself, for various reasons.
I don’t want to be a burden, don’t want to be incapable of contributing with money. But right now, as I’m failing graduate studies, that’s what I am.
I’ll keep trying, but I can’t pretend that it isn’t weighing me down, and I wish that I could just focus on writing.
This year, I’ve had the opportunity to write a lot. I’ve written several practice novels, none of them good enough or edited, but it made me see that I’m truly happiest when I get to write.
When I do other things, even if they involve earning money, I feel like I’m doing something wrong.
Out of the various jobs I’ve had, which includes unspeakable things and regular home care for the elderly, I perhaps enjoyed babysitting the most, until the kids got used to me and started being defiant. I suppose I felt pride, because they looked forward to seeing me, and liked me.
The other jobs were uninspiring. Sure, I helped people, but wasn’t truly appreciated in the same way; I was just one of the helpers, not special or anything.
Not that being special is the most important thing.
Purpose and Time
Working is selling your time, and that is the biggest reason why I didn’t feel pride over most of my jobs, whether the hourly rate was a lot or just a little.
It wasn’t the way I wanted to live my life. I didn’t want to sell my time. It felt wrong and like a betrayal to myself, which is why I ended up loathing the money I earned through those jobs.
As a student, I take out a student loan, but for some reason I don’t feel negatively towards it. Maybe it’s a psychological error, or because studying allows me to make my own schedule and have more freedom over my life. Either way, I feel like it’s worth it.
Earlier today, I cooked vegetables. It made me massively annoyed, because it took too much time, and I felt like I had wasted it. The vegetables weren’t even that good.
And yet, I don’t feel like I’m wasting my time right now, as I write this. I feel like I’m doing something important.
Maybe it’s stupidity, because I’m pretty sure I’m rambling.
For me, writing resets my emotions. It’s as if they pile up and keep piling up, but if I write about it, I end up feeling better faster. I don’t talk about my feelings, nor do I express them a lot — I’ve been called scary because I smile too little. So nice, but I don’t mind being scary. If I could, I would be a vampire.
Maybe writing about my inner feelings to the whole wide world on the internet is a weird thing to do; maybe it’s redundant, but I suppose that on some level, I want to connect.
On most levels, I don’t care about connecting to other people — I want to care, I really do, but I’ve always found it hard to do so in a way that isn’t forced or has a different motive.
Having my “husband” is enough, in that sense, but I guess I want to feel like I’m contributing to the world in some way, and I want that way to be writing, even if I haven’t finished anything yet. Interview with the Vampire was Anne Rice’s first novel, and she was over 30 when she wrote it. I’m 25, there is still hope. There is always hope.
Something inside me never allow me to give up hope. Almost to an annoying degree, this fact used to bother me when I really wanted to give up. On the search of love, that is.
Now, I have love, and don’t need to search for it. Instead, I have to write stories. Write and write until it’s the right one. Just like I searched and searched until I found the right love.
One day, it will happen. As long as I keep doing it.
Self centered on a universal level
“Focus on the reader, not yourself.” I’ve heard.
Yes, I write about myself, my own thoughts and my life. But how do you connect with someone else by not revealing who you are?
How can the world be so cold that one has to follow formulas and methods just to be read by other people? It’s just like people wear makeup and certain clothes to be liked in real life (I don’t, but I have).
Why is the world so cold? Isn’t the most important thing people’s stories, the real things that they have to tell?
Personally, I find it more interesting to read blogs that are personal, as opposed to the generic types, and yet I remember reading a certain article that spoke about personal stories in a certain topic excessively flooding the internet, that people shouldn’t keep adding to it.
But why not? Just because someone else has talked about something, it doesn’t mean that no one else can.
The internet is already full of fast food blogs, why make more of them — is what I would say, to the contrary.
Well, no blog is right or wrong. All of them serve a purpose, whether it’s for other people, the writer, or both.
I find it impossible to enjoy writing if I keep thinking about other people, just like I can’t enjoy life if I focus on other people. It may be self centered, but I think that a lot of people would be happier by focusing on themselves more.
A different society?
In my dream, a different society was created. Just an experiment, and definitely not my dream society, but I do have a vision…
Earlier this year, I learned about secret societies for a couple of months. Not a lot, but enough to wish that I had one of my own. Even gave myself a suitable name (not Dreamy), but we’ll see if that ever realizes. So far, I’m the only member, and not even I am active.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be some sort of life coach, like Teal Swan, but that was before I found out that everyone knew more than me.
It’s been a while since I explored the world of the occult and magic(k). Maybe I should go back there.
I get a rush when I try on new identities, and even during the weeks since starting this blog, I’ve made switches — from ambitions of being a stay at home mom and business blogger to anti kids and business blogging, to romance writer and writer blogger, and now leaning towards re-exploring occultism.
Well, I did that (just now), in this post, and now that I’ve done that, I’ve returned to a state of enjoying life slightly more than I did when I woke up this morning.
Blogging is nice, but having written almost 2k words in the blog today, I feel it’s time to dedicate some words to fiction writing as well. After all, that’s my main goal.
So, off to write on Our Story and eat some more raw bars (already 4 today, needed fuel to write).