Just another headache.

Well, here I am again, writing at the late night hour. I can’t sleep cause I snoozed for an hour or two earlier, and the guilt of knowing I’ve got stuff to do has begun to creep up on me.

Time. Always feels like I’m running out of Time, but I keep getting told I still have plenty. Maybe it’s not Time chasing me; maybe I’m not running out of Time, just running from it. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. Apparently, I’m having fun, and living the life; because being a student is a great thing to be. I agree, but when I try to think ahead, I don’t really see anything. Having fun now is all very well, but what happens after academia? I’m told I’ll figure it out, I’ll find a way, but what if I don’t? I’m not exactly known for being street smart or efficient. I suppose I’m not an optimist either, so I just let things slip away.

There’s this big internship I want to apply for, and the deadline’s this Friday, and I’ve not fixed my CV yet. I’ve got articles to write; articles that could probably be done in under 15 minutes if I knew what I had to write, or if I had the quotes necessary. But then what? What if I get the articles done? I still have to come up with more articles, and do more, and churn out more bullshit like I’m some machine. Well, world, guess what. I’m not a journalistic machine. I can type at speed but I refuse to write faster and write more, just to be able to get a job at a local newspaper. I don’t want to be the guy who went from a masters into a job he doesn’t really enjoy. I enjoy the writing part of it; I just battle with the methods used to acquire information.

I don’t want to be stuck in a career I’m not particularly fond of. Sure, I can do it; I can be a journalist, but it’s not me. I don’t want to have a job just to survive, just to pay the bills. I don’t know what I want. The list of things I don’t want is much longer, and easier to define.

But I know I want to make time to have conversations. Have conversations about things that matter. Have laughs. Laugh about being stupid. Be stupid about things that matter, so I can be at ease.

The anger has eaten away at the laughter; I can go out and have fun all night, and then let the entire evening be soured by one bad, sick joke. Maybe I’m too tolerant of being other people’s jester, other people’s entertainment. Maybe I’m too keen to be funny. Funny is what I do, I guess. Especially when I’m angry. When my insides churn and burn and flame up with fury; that’s when I’m funny, because I’m so careful about my words. I try to be careful so as to not hurt anyone because of my anger, but it often seeps in, like poison in water.

But the darkness, it feels good. It feels strong; I want to be strong like that darkness. I want the speed, and the stealth, and I want to be a human being. I guess anger is part of that, as it is part of the emotive spectrum of human beings, but I don’t think I remember what it’s like to feel anything else. I don’t see why anyone else would try to ‘get with’ such an inflamed being. I don’t see myself writing any romantic poetry any time soon. I don’t see a future with anyone. With anything. Anywhere.

I don’t see my future, and so I throw it away. I throw it away, push it to the side, and yet the seed of doubt is there, growing slowly into an amorphous black hole, that will suck everything into it. I don’t see myself in academia; I’ve had enough of people telling me what they think I should think about things. I’ve had enough of being told what’s best for me. And yet, the very thought of breaking out of the ‘asylum’ is terrifying.

The unknown has scared human beings for centuries, so I don’t see why I would be any exception. Yet surely there’s some way of understanding how to handle a situation like this. Oh sure, ‘make informed choices’; where the hell did that ever get any of us? Decisions are best taken quickly, because Time is money.

Maybe I’m just tired. Too negative for my own good.

Well then, let’s look at the positive side… I know I have some good points. I can write, for starters. Where does that leave me?

Oh, fuck off. I’m going to bed.

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