Seems like nothing good ever comes out of waiting these days.

I keep doing it anyway.

It's not about this blog.

I tagged all my posts according to their respective subjects in very thinly-veiled pseudonyms (I was never one for creative naming), added some recent thoughts and investigations of the self, then took everything off public eyes. I have yet to work on my backlog entries. But as soon as the opportunity comes, it shall be written. There is too large a void in that important period of time and it is really time I face my own mess rather than landing in the neurotic level of defence mechanisms at every turn. It's time to move onto some sublimations.

But to the point of this post: I am highly amused that the largest fraction of posts so far is of the Nerdinator. Yeah, you know who.

I foresee that to change as time goes on and perhaps when I finish my backlog, but the blunderings of a sixteen-year-old self really does not cease to amuse.

One more serious matter: in the beginning, I wrote because I could not let my hair down just a little. Now I write because I still can't let my hair down completely to at least one person in this world. I wonder if that person will ever happen.

I'm not the only one who can you that I run, run, run, intellectualizing and isolating where I can, suppressing where I cannot.

As if feeling rules were not competently learnt.

Affect display requires sincere affect in the first place.
Internal sources disturb the baseline, seeking attention and expression but only feels like a strong general sense of wrong;
External sources are even more so frightening in its perceptibility. (They are either masked by my egoism, deep beyond my capabilities to accept, or suspected to be not really what's happening.)
(So maybe it's just easier to not deal with the can of worms.)

Isolation is so easy.

Rather than say that my life is hectic, maybe it just needs a bit of sorting out to comb out the tangles in the thought trails and find my goals and locale on life again...

I need to relearn how to keep a straight, prioritized thought in my head and finish it.
There is much to sort, much to say.

Breaking from the results of procrastination.

ハイ、お久しぶりです。日本語はもう中々忘れてしまった様ですね。

Yes, I am currently in the middle of suffering from my completely, guiltily conscious and self-inflicted results of my avoidance problems. 

Yes, I am currently in the realm of 'I'm screwed and is past the redemption point, shit.' 

[Redemption at Amazon 

Low prices on Redemption. Qualified orders over $25 ship free]

Right, if only. 

But even I know I should stop for a bit (and probably should go shower) when I start hovering and squinting at the screen from less than twenty centimeters away. ('Six inches' sounds shorter, but I am attempting to rebel against American acculturation.)

'Twas going to say 'I'm such an 'effing wreck,' but on second thought, I can do worse. I really can. My study ethics are just completely down the drain, probably wrecking havoc on my transcripts. (I am too scared to check.) 

What with all the familial and social turmoil since last year this time, I think I feel drained. 

(I can never tell, until I look back and say, 'wow, what a deep, dark pit I was in, and am I still shaking off the reminants of shadows?')

My enthusiasm for persuing the cognition-intensive is dwindling. The drive for the pursue of perfection seemed to have been weakening since, oh, about three-and-a-half years ago. Seems like a very, very long time ago. In my young age, though, perhaps it is. It was 17% of my life ago, after all. That's close enough to one fifth, isn't it?

The way I cannot even consider admitting and write about some things until it's early morning and when time is tight (actually, I've given up on submitting it with full points attached).

(Not lying to yourself is painful. Physically percieving my own admittance to failure really, really hurts.

Why do I never fucking learn?)

Now that my skin is much more comfortable to live in, it's really time I work on not being a coward, face my shortcomings, battle against those terrible habits of indolence, steer myself from taking the path of least resistance (really, you're better than protein in a sizing column!), and stop fobbing myself off thinking that 'this is good enough' or 'it's too late.' 

And remember that I disliked those qualities enough to hurt others with it. 

And remember that I hate those qualities in myself, every time I experience it. 

Work, amygdala, damn it! 

(Or maybe they are working; it's only I who learned the response wrongly.)

...I am so very afraid and unwilling to look into the future. I am tired and no longer sure of my goals. I have always overestimated myself in the worse moments. And then underestimate myself in the wrong moments. I am no longer sure, while people around me seem to be over their uncertainty and are moving fowards. 

How rotten must I be, questioning myself only as critical moments approach? 

Not putting thoughts into necessary consideration just because I didn't want to? 

Ha! How like me.

Sometimes (with a frightening increase in frequency) I wish for someone to go spoil to. But this is probably only because I feel (am?) displaced from a place of comfort and security. I fancy that to be not far from the truth. 

Saying I am like a kitten kicked out of home and made to fend for myself would be unfair to those who are more similar to that situation than I. 

Perhaps that is what Byakko felt in his short residency in my place of study. Unanchored. Dislodged. Uncertain. 

Assimilating my feelings as a cat's seems terribly like regression and retreat from the actual truth, doesn't it. I am doing more and more of it. It's avoidance to pacify myself; fooling myself into thinking problem further diagnosed and closer to recovery is something that served me well in the past. 

What wonderful habit with such wonderous personality. 

So let's recap(itulate) a little, without chronology, with a touch of melancholy self-hating, shall we?

This is point in time is not quite the end yet, so I shall reign in the reflections for a couple more days. But ruminations are certainly permissible, I think.

I walked out of Genetics final feeling quite lost and with plenty of regret. I am done with the class—the one (real) class that I enjoyed—and I prepared far too inadequately for it. Not as inadequate as the studying I tend to do for o-chem, but the guilt is worse. They weren't difficult questions, but only being able to recall the page and recognize the questions (the same questions) without the capacity to recall the details and the actual answer sits more heavily on my conscience than walking out of a(n) (o-chem) test knowing I have failed because I had absolutely no inkling to the answer.

I probably have grown quite attached to the professor, too. He was incredibly willing to share what he knows, and will answer questions beyond what was asked. My relatively numerous (but can still be counted on one hand) number of not-relevant-to-test-material-but-related questions probably facilitated that. He's also the adorable bumble-y grandfatherly types with a good sense of humor and love of metaphors...and I think I'm somewhat more easily attached to parental figures these days.

So tired and down but I know I shouldn't be.

I just felt like I failed the professor, the parents, and the self because I didn't study enough when I bloody knew my capabilities are far from my performance today. I know I can be brilliant, and there was absolutely no excuse for getting less than 95% today because all the answers were there and available and are things I have seen and should have remembered. And from what I've seen, calculated, and went through, I don't think there's really a chance for his curve to keep my grade in the borderline A-/A range (in which case I think I have accumulated enough "extra" points for an A).

Disappointment to the world, I am.

Self-hatred? Check.

(Too consumed to even talk about the internet problem anymore)

In the four and a half years I've been spewing angst here, I have, if not everything else, learned of one quirk: if I am unable and unwilling to express some recent, dominant thought in words, then it is something that I recognized to be painful. Anger, irritation, silliness, and mild depression are easy to form into words. They are easy to confront, dealt with, and dispelled.

Larger looming issues are not so simple.

But the more I avoid thinking about it, the more urgent and problematic it gets, and the worse the condition it leaves me when I accidentally strikes upon it, or when I couldn't keep from making some connection to said issue.

I fear failing.
I fear falling apart.
I fear rejection.
I fear not being able to manage myself, my life.

So I put it aside, forget about it, pretend everything is just as before, blinding myself from what needs to be done.

...and despair afterwards.

(365*4.5)/646=1642.5/646=2.54days/post

I fear being left alone.
I hate being left alone.
Keeping them here is selfish.
Any other alternative is painful.

My chest aches, really aches, when I think about it.

I know I should not avoid it any longer.
I know avoiding is bad, bad, bad.
But I don't want to think about it, just for a little longer.
The pain is getting worse and worse now. Can't even keep myself it check.
Damn it all.

See, I still can't even address it properly. Can't even structure this into something resembling logic.

This will just come out as ridiculously emo! and silly and stupid and teenage-angsty, but it's nonetheless true: I hate my being. I wish I am not such a disappointment to myself and my parents.

Dear Nodame

There is something I feel like I must express, but nothing is coming out right. Not from pencils, nor from keyboard.

I always wonder, what if I was bold enough to take the artist road? Be brave enough, be confident enough, to do this thing that I like, but only mildly competent in?

Not taking that path, I know, is sensible...but I can't help thinking, isn't that the same thing you wanted to do? (Of course, you were actually more than qualified to take that road...) Sometimes, I think I purposely avoid furthering myself there so I can convince myself that that is not the way I should go, that this is the reason for this other decision.

You touched me, Nodame, because you just wanted to enjoy what you liked, too, but you had the push from everyone else to make sure you were taking that road. You went down that road when the choice really mattered. I still don't know whether what I chose was right, but then again, as of now, I'm still younger that you...so we shall see.

You are probably what I want to be. Then again, who wouldn't? For this exact reason you are a story, and I am real.

Am I just reluctant to go back to school now?
Or just unwilling to make peace with what will happen?
What kind of fool am I, to pretend, even for a little while, that I can be like you: to find someone outside to depend upon, to be fine with the prospect, to immerse myself in something so much that I forget everything else, to escape and have everything turn out fine?

What is this that I am doing?
Whywhyhow?

I wish I am better in something...so I can express myself better.
I hate myself for being so inferior, so afraid, so stupid, so childish, and so LACKING.

And I need to tag my posts better.

Untitled.

I can't help being sickened by the thought that this is my ninth, and last, summer in this house, this garden, with these plants and birds...and perhaps with Byakko.

No more piano, save for the one in Hong Kong.

No more wisteria, which had just begun to strengthen.

No more, no more.

Countdown...

Stuff of things.

Of course I don't want them to go, but what choice have I, in consideration of the best choice for them? They certainly have done enough of that for me already.

Playing dismissal and disinterest is a little better than being childish and make everyone feel worse all around...perhaps.

What is Greed?

Greed is wishing for .1% more for an A+ not six hours after walking out of a test hoping for an A, although it makes no difference in terms of GPA.

Ningen wa...OMOSHIROI.

Care.

Maybe life would be better for everyone if I just stop understanding and respond as my own emotions dictate. Maybe it'd be better if I don't pay attention, if I don't observe these things and care.

Perhaps there is merit in being a clueless women after all.

Witnessed, but helpless. Can do nothing but watch as they lead themselves to fail, agonizing all the while. I agonize with them.

Watching people brining themselves to ruins hurts. Any attempt to help is futile. It will only result in ruined bonds and an dark ache for me.

Like an uphill battle all the time. Between self and envy and others and habits and consciousness and discipline and want. And loathing of my own powerlessness, my weakness, my dependency, my easily permeable pathos.

Some time between age 10 and now, I have stopped living for my toys, stopped living for my self, and only living for my parents.

I'm not reaching an understanding of parent-child relationships. How well the parent can understand the child matters. How well the child understand the parent matters. And how much the parent explains. And how much the child knows for him/herself. Societal outlook differences matter. Language barriers matter. Communication effectiveness. Parent-child personality.

I see I hear I observe I experience.

If there's no straightforwardness in family matters, only impatience and presumptions and suppositions and face, how can I expect anything else in any other situation?