It's been...a really long time...
Years? Yeah, it's been years. Good golly, Miss Miley (it's 2013, that's the state of the universe right now)!
What's new? Well, I made it through 2 years of weird high school, then graduated with my IB Diploma - shmarmy, shmarm, shmarm. Then I decided to go to university (where apparently my IB Diploma is meant to help me in some way...it isn't, actually. In fact, all it's doing is making me bitter and realize how pompous I can be. (Nooooo, crushing self-realization! And a bracket-within-a-bracket! (Don't even say "bracketception" or some shit))).
Right now, I'm sitting in front of my laptop trying to finish an assignment - more specifically, a "connections" assignment for my Drama class where I have to take an aspect of a play I've seen and mesh it together with just something random from the outernet (or the real world to most) and then just...poop something out that sounds intelligent. I thought it was going to be an easy assignment, but let me inform you sir/madam: ya gurl is feckin stuck.
My current connection consists of a mashup between: using the public restroom and arguments in Delicacy by Kat Sandler. What the actual fuck am I doing?
Wait.
What the actual fuck am I doing?
What the actual fuck am I doing?
What the actual fuck am I doing?
What the actual fuck am I doing?
What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing? What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing? What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?What the actual fuck am I doing?
What the actual fuck am I doing?
That, my children, is the real question here.
Have you ever gotten to a point (of course you have) where your brain just kind of boopbeedoop I am mature? I am at that stage. And I hate it. I always return to this spot of...life expectancy, where I just...WAT. What am I doing? Nothing. I can't complete this damn assignment, I don't know why I'm taking Drama (I have this weird notion that I can be a playwright), I don't know why I'm at this university, I don't understand what I'm doing, why am I so bad at everything?
Let me just give you a little, a little smeary window into what I see right now:
My boyfriend (I cringe saying that word, I really do, I don't know why...because I'm a prick?) is sitting on the bed contemplating. No, seriously. He's contemplating. Because he wants to write something and needs inspiration from the outernet. He can spend ages on Reddit or something, or ages doing whatever else, and still get his readings and assignments done, and still have time to submit an article to the newspaper, or do some coding shit to make a game (fuck, I don't know what a video game is), or just write...
This is what I'm talking about. FUCKING PEOPLE. HOW. WHY. WHAT. HOOWWWWW. I am literally at a stage in my life (holy balls, I used "literally" like a teenage girl...oh wait...THAT'S BECAUSE I STILL FUCKING AM AND EVERYONE IS LEGALLY LITERALLY A LITERAL FUCKING LITERALLY LEGIT ADULT) where I am bad at everything. I try really hard not to be, or do I? No, I do. A lot of the time. Sometimes.
I think this is the part where I tag in some kind of realization clause, but I have none. I can't really think with the lad sitting on my bed gazing off into the distance coming up with something brilliant, and my floormates outside my door (who I don't know anything about, by the way - they could literally (there we go again) be serial killers, or really nice people, or Jehovah Witnesses (wait...I'm sorry if that offended, shit.)...but I don't know because I don't know how to do the outernet and the outernet don't like me) making noise. Maybe it's someone's birthday? Is that the sound of joy?
I don't know what I'm doing.
At all.
Have a wisdom:
