(no subject)

I have just completed an economics essay. It is a load of complete rubbish and I am ashamed to have written it. I detest and loathe questions which give me enough context to hang myself with by whining 'the question isn't the one you think you're asking and the context isn't really relevent at all, is it?' and hence tying myself up in knots whereas I should be getting on with trying to allege that some good has come out of the rail privatisatoin process (when it doesn't particularly appear to have). And I completely forgot my slightly tangental but probably irrelavent section on social benefit vs private benefit, but I thought I'd done enough negative stuff and that I ought to come up with at least half a paragraph weakly muttering 'well, it isn't quite an unmitigated disaster. or at least I'm meant to say that to give a balanced argument.'

I got to draw some pretty graphs though. Using pretty colours. So it wasn't all bad.

Life, however, seems to be panning out as 'all bad' at the moment. I consistantly screw things up (for instance, the phone just rang, reminding me that I really ought to have phoned Pete and Ju about bowling, grr). And I appear to be the absolute worst possible friend for enchantedmelody to have taken up with. I don't gossip, I don't do 'real' parties, I'm not in with the people who do, I don't like talking about boys or clothes or vampires, I get annoyed with her and I regularly lose my temper and hit her or throw her around. But I can't go and get some other friends who I'd be better for (and who'd be better for me) because I don't want to leave her on her own.

Why do I constantly demonstrate that I'm incapable of bailing out of things before it all gets messy? Will I never learn?

My life is wonderful. I have wonderful parents, wonderful stuff, a wonderful education, a wonderful future. And I just want to cry and scream and break things like a spoilt toddler. I am angry and I am upset and I have no reason to be either. I am sitting here and unravelling the empty strands of my pointless and depressingly wonderful life. I am filling my head with rubbish. I am filling my heart with poision. I am starving my soul into silence, but I'm waiting for other people to do something about it, while neglecting the little nourishment that I could give it. I work too hard on things that don't matter. I slack off on things that also don't matter, but it makes me feel even more lacklustre and like a big slimy lethargic slug. The only time I'm happy is when I forget, when I push myself into just reacting, just *being*. But that can't satisfy me forever; for a start, I'd just die from forgetting stuff.

There is a phrase shamelessly stolen from painispretty that seems to be having more and more relavence in my life, and *I want rid of it*.

Everything I touch turns to shit.

(no subject)

I appear to have recovered now.

I can't stay angry or miserable for long.

I hope it won't be back, but I suspect it will.