(no subject)

I'm annoyed, again, and so, here goes nothing:

Why on earth does people complain about the lack of excitement in their lives? Are they not masters of their own destiny, of their own will? Can they not control what they do and do not do? I can deal with the part that they despise school (I do too, for the most part), that they wish they could do what they truly desire, but anything beyond that and I feel like hurling something very hard and very unpleasant in their face and screaming "wake up!" or "go do something about it, for fucks sake!". Complaints are a bundle of fun when spiced with the right amount of melodrama, but when they involve something as utterly silly as "oh, my life is so darn boring. I have everything I could possibly need, and more. But I need something exciting to happen, I need a war; I need someone to make life fun for me!", it seems to me devoid of any reason. Whatsoever.
Wake up, look around, find something worthy your complaints, go read Graham Greene.

A friend from primary school has surfaced again. We went from desperate clinging, to a one-way alley, where I'm still wandering and she stands on the roof-tops taunting me with hints of what was in those last years of hell. Does she really think I am ever going to forget what she did? Does she believe that I like her?
Is she so stupid that she thinks me willing to overlook the past? I have in some ways forgiven the others, and I will have my revenge in seeing them fail at life, but she still lingers as the worst and she stands unforgiven. Did you forget the summers we spent at your cabin, those weeks painted in the colours of my hell?
You speak of one person I wish I was able to thank for what she did for me, with such loathing I cringe deep within. "Hah! No one was ever nice to her, except 'her' of course, remember her?" Disgusting. And by that you put yourself in the position of being nice? I should laugh in your face and tell you this, but I'm still too shy to do just that -remains from your teachings perhaps?-, except when my temper gets the best of me. One person spoke up, and I dare you, say that person was you; I dare you, say you were nice in those last years. Say you were a friend.
In what you thought would be good-bye you wrote "you have changed so much, you use so many weird, long words. I don't get half of them." Remember who taught me not to use such words? No? Need I refresh your memory? You, oh darling friend, you. I so wish I could crush you absolutely in whatever I do, alas, that does not seem possible, but in succeeding in whatever I choose to do after this I will have a whiff of satisfaction. If my dream ever comes through, I'll waste a line to thank those who made me what I am.

And there, to any-one who thinks I like her, is what I think of the girl that called herself friend.

These days I have extremely little self-control, composure, perhaps to an extent, but self-restraint, no. I know it to be pathetic, but I feel so very powerless. To go further down the line of patheticness, I apologize to anyone it might touch, Line especially. Sorry.

Kent is, by the by, terrific. Cheerful, fun and unique.

(no subject)

I'm annoyed, again, and so, here goes nothing:

Why on earth does people complain about the lack of excitement in their lives? Are they not masters of their own destiny, of their own will? Can they not control what they do and do not do? I can deal with the part that they despise school (I do too, for the most part), that they wish they could do what they truly desire, but anything beyond that and I feel like hurling something very hard and very unpleasant in their face and screaming "wake up!" or "go do something about it, for fucks sake!". Complaints are a bundle of fun when spiced with the right amount of melodrama, but when they involve something as utterly silly as "oh, my life is so darn boring. I have everything I could possibly need, and more. But I need something exciting to happen, I need a war; I need someone to make life fun for me!", it seems to me devoid of any reason. Whatsoever.
Wake up, look around, find something worthy your complaints, go read Graham Greene.

A friend from primary school has surfaced again. We went from desperate clinging, to a one-way alley, where I'm still wandering and she stands on the roof-tops taunting me with hints of what was in those last years of hell. Does she really think I am ever going to forget what she did? Does she believe that I like her?
Is she so stupid that she thinks me willing to overlook the past? I have in some ways forgiven the others, and I will have my revenge in seeing them fail at life, but she still lingers as the worst and she stands unforgiven. Did you forget the summers we spent at your cabin, those weeks painted in the colours of my hell?
You speak of one person I wish I was able to thank for what she did for me, with such loathing I cringe deep within. "Hah! No one was ever nice to her, except 'her' of course, remember her?" Disgusting. And by that you put yourself in the position of being nice? I should laugh in your face and tell you this, but I'm still too shy to do just that -remains from your teachings perhaps?-, except when my temper gets the best of me. One person spoke up, and I dare you, say that person was you; I dare you, say you were nice in those last years. Say you were a friend.
In what you thought would be good-bye you wrote "you have changed so much, you use so many weird, long words. I don't get half of them." Remember who taught me not to use such words? No? Need I refresh your memory? You, oh darling friend, you. I so wish I could crush you absolutely in whatever I do, alas, that does not seem possible, but in succeeding in whatever I choose to do after this I will have a whiff of satisfaction. If my dream ever comes through, I'll waste a line to thank those who made me what I am.

And there, to any-one who thinks I like her, is what I think of the girl that called herself friend.

These days I have extremely little self-control, composure, perhaps to an extent, but self-restraint, no. I know it to be pathetic, but I feel so very powerless. To go further down the line of patheticness, I apologize to anyone it might touch, Line especially. Sorry.

Kent is, by the by, terrific. Cheerful, fun and unique.