Many weeks ago I, um, lost my password for this account.
What really matters is that I have it back in my memory now.
No. Actually what matters most would be that in my absence from this one I created another to store thoughts. So, a wholesome part of life is at cameer and I intend for it to stay this way.
Which indirectly hints at the relocation of my journal as it has been for the past few weeks.
I will be adding my friends list sporadically to cameer throughout the June
holidays during days when I am not overwhelmed by work. If you are not there yet you will be, eventually. I keep my promises.
Meanwhile my posts have been kept public (except for one).
So long, and good night.
Many weeks ago I, um, lost my password for this account.
The author? Me, at fifteen years old.
tingthepro the picture you posted made my day a lot better. There a few things as fortunate as seeing Johnny Depp on my phone screen after a crazy day of planning one essay. :)
There isn't a function to mention a username in a post, either.
I am going indie folk on this night.
Every time Thirteen comes on screen on House and I stare really deeply into her eyes it feels as if one can see the sea in them. They are a pair of beauties; it makes me wish mine were green but I cannot try contact lenses as they make my eyes itch. And House has returned where he belongs; I rejoice with Cuddy. Chase feels like a reactionary to me; probably as today episode was about a president who dies because of a probable misdiagnosis, and Chase is also in a stuck condition as he tries to stop a genocide from happening in this president's country by killing the mastermind, apparently, or that was all that I had deduced from the last half an hour of the episode. I sympathise with him; when faced with such difficult knowledge. The last thing he said to Foreman was 'If the police come looking for me, please warn me. That way I can tell my wife.'. But it is really his fault; or did circumstances drive action? I am certain his manifested sense of justice throws a spanner into the works, but this assertion of justice issue can complicate things. Cameron uttered the words 'I don't want him to die.' Plain to say their dilemmas extend beyond the scope of everyday life (it is not everyday one finds the chance to exert an influential force on the functioning of the world), but when faced with a decision that harming one can save many others, how easy is it to see that there is something worth doing, and within one's power to,no matter how sacrificial it may seem, regardless of how much danger one puts him/herself into. Foreman echoed the same sentiment in caustic tones as the episode closes; he might be trying to put forth the point that really, the genocide isn't Chase's business at all, so why meddle in the affairs of some country more than a thousand miles away? Still, the nagging bit of indignation would not go away. The question remains; would we let diabolical men walk free had we known what they are? Or would out overwhelming desire to 'put things right' get the better of us? For a second we become martyrs for justice and the like.
I keep getting the feeling Dr James Wilson gets cuter as the seasons roll along. Well it's a happy thing for him. I like him.
I am getting the hand of things. It is 12.38 and there are assignments still left to be done. I expect to be at the desk till morning. It isn't a case of time management issues; rather it is a situation in which I have submitted myself wholly to work. I am deprived of sleep, and still listening to My Chemical Romance even as I plot graphs and complete essays.
Looking forward to Friday.
Technically, it is Friday.
I have finished the Historiography essay. Somehow I feel it as a feeble attempt at grasping at straws, basically summarising the lecture, learning points and by the time I felt I had everything together, coherent and intelligibly handwirtten, I had exceeded the word limit by two hundred words. (Actually, given only a minimum number of 500 words, technically I did not.)
I have been invited back to my former school for prize-giving day. I had to practically go on my metaphorical knees and beg my parents to attend as my photographers, and even when I did the only thing that persuaded them was the availability of refreshments. I wonder what sort of prizes would they be handing out? Certificates, perhaps, another lasting parting gift. I am hoping for book vouchers, to be spent indiscriminately. My parents were less excited at the prospect. Mother tore open the envelope, read and contents and uttered 'oh, good' while I was beside myself. It would take place on April the 24th, and conveniently I could get on stage, get off and claim my graduation certificate on the way out from the General Office.
It has come to my attention that 'Special Topics In Calamity Physics' would be soon made into a film.
Go and set my heart aflutter, Scott Rudin,
General Paper. We have left summaries so far behind now. Good; they weren't very interesting. 6/7 for the worksheet on education and the internet, which is to say, simply, above average, though it is hard to believe I missed the last point. (Where did the language marks go?) But I am not bitter; I never am in such circumstances: the ridiculously high marks keep me sated.
Did a group essay on the dimishing of chauvinism with the evolution of the modern society; and given the world 'group' it did not fit the general going-abouts of the discussion, which tended to lapse into prolonged periods of awkward silence. The members I ended up working with are...unconventional. Which is very interesting; I've had just about enough with suggesting stylistically-pleasing statements for inclusion in an essay/write-up but it was not used as half the group did not follow my train of thought. I get very frustrated, and this translates irreversibly into either: (1) I find myself saddled with the workload or (2) I become a non-participant by choice whose only role serves to correct sentence structures (which usually make me cringe). It is liberating to be away from the constraints of those limiting factors and actually conversing with people on the same intellectual wavelength and calibre.
Peer reviewing time. Two sticky notes and really bizarre comments. Good thesis + elaboration? I did not think so, but I am the minority. Personally I thought as a product of fifteen minutes' worth of thought it was not in a sad state but it was no masterpiece of an analysis. The whole structure seems lopsided; much like the beginnings of a lengthy introduction in three paragraphs than an actual attempt of refutation of opposing points (we gave none) and even an actual, less subtle relation from topic sentence to thesis. But thank you, all the same.
Jianyi wrote: 'Something unheralded and definitely unaccapted in the opast but definitely supported by today's iron ladies.' with reference to the phenomenon of house husbands. I cannot get enough of the beautiful phrasing and how wonderfully this statement finished off our hurried essay. I wanted to say that during class; and I did, but I do not think he heard. Anyway.
Biology class test tomorrow. Molecules. Not much love, but it is work. And work distracts me from all other obtrusive thoughts.
EDIT: Another visit to the doctor tomorrow. Bloodshot eyes lasting for two weeks. I thought it might be caused by a lack of sleep and a weeks' worth of seven-hour slumber might remedy it but there has yet to be an improvement. Bouts of blurry vision, and something akin to photophobia. I fear iritis; am trying not to worry too much.
The day ends, on an acrimonious note.
paramoremusic is choking up my friends page. I know fan love as fan love and everything else from pictures to ramblings to digital confetti, but two/three posts per page is overwhelming, especially when I'd rather read something new other than band-specific news. A little is alright, but this has become a deluge.
trypanophobic34 's photoshoot as Red Riding Hood is breathtaking.
I wish I could sew, design, draw, write music, figure out where everything seems to land before they do, write decent poems I would be unashamed of, speak out with such conviction and self-confidence I no longer feel as if I am retarded, socially awkward and obtusive, and know many math equations by heart, among other things. Life rarely goes as according to plan as one wishes.
I need to do something relaxing. The only time I get to read something decent are the minutes I use up outside a classroom waiting for the previous class to evacuate, and the book usually ends up with crumpled cover from being sandwiches between a calculator and a file in a bag all day long and stuffed back into its deep recesses. I feel almost detached. I need the books in my life; and without them it seems so emptied of anything extraordinary.
Project Work had started. I badly need to do work before someone does more work than I do: simply because being a group leader makes saddling a certain degree of stress mandatory, and if I do not it drives me crazy trying to get everything together in a sane piece, and the depression doubles exponentially every time I fail.