Sometimes, I can't believe I bloody weak-willed I am. And I hate it. I really hate it. Don't you get it? I know it's late, but I'm really trying to change. I really have the heart to change this time, and it happened before I realize I have to stay up late to finish yet another essay or project. Don't you see? This is me attempting self-control. I don't want to argue. You raise your voice and yet mine doesn't change. The talk lengthens. You're suprised at how calm I talked through; you almost ended our conversation with slamming the door to my room, but me slowly opening stopped you. We kept talking. You calmed, but now getting irrational, asking me the same things, things I thought were the answers, again, but apparently you were looking for another. Half-heartedly, you actually wanted to see when i'd crack, loose my composed mask and break down, frustrated, scream, yell, start to be irrational, then accuse me for being so, while saying I have an explaination for everything. You heed no notice to my slightly desperate tone—I though you knew me; do I really need to wail my need for help? Apparently so. Apparently you think I have an explaination for everything. But did you notice, I was only explaining and requesting one thing, and nothing else? There, you got your break down, and I raised my frustrated voice 2 times. But I've got myself in check now, and I didn't loose my logic—I really hadn't any. All I want you to do is say, just SAY, you understand my proposal and problem, without using your solution: your way didn't work before, and it's not helping me. Don't you get it? I need self-control. The kind of self control that would stop me from ranting right now and go finish my history essay. I am now crying my eyes out [no doubt they'll be still be poofy by the time I get to school], and hating how I love my obsessions. I laugh at people who live without having something they love to do, but perhaps it's better that way. With the kind of person I am anyways. And this is only the beginning of the second week.

Perhaps there was a bit too much optimism when I said I've got my stone smoothly rolling again.

But then again, tears will always dry and time will always pass, no matter what you do with it. Who can be so optimistic though?