Friday, August 24, 2007
10:06 pm
I hate it when during the study week prior to an examination, my writer-block dissipates magically and I get the urge to finish any incomplete chapters while torrents of usable phrases invade my mind and threatened to leave my memory if I didn't note them down right then.
I hate it when during the study week, I keep getting compulsive inspirations. Just two days ago, I felt like doing an artwork. And in the past hour, I had been unconsciously planning out two new blogskins. Not to mention that throughout the week, I had to stop myself from logging on to my LiveJournal to revamp my account.
I hate it when during that week, I will never fail to come across at least one new song that sounds so good and the lyrics so beautiful that I just had to have it in my laptop so that I can play it on loop until all my papers finish.
I hate it when during the week, I will come across a new profile on a site (deviantART, LiveJournal, etc) and I must see all entries made (if only to find and snag a new spiffy avatar) before my inner curious-and-obsessive artist and/or journalist deems it worthy enough to calm down.
I hate this week because I had finally come to terms with the fact that my attention span is getting shorter with each passing year. Perhaps it's getting accustomed to the last minute rush every six months in the mad-six-hour-cramming-session the day/night/early morning before the actual paper. Or maybe it's just me getting weary and burnt out by the routine-ness of it all, because goodness knows that regularity and routine are turnoffs for all Arians who thrive on the elements of surprise, spontaneity and excitement.
Routine and predictability? Big no-no.
It can be something comforting in the small daily-life parts. Other than those? Pfft.
I suppose what I really hate is the truth that I don't have the drive to persevere for the sake of my studies and to attain a "miracle result", as what my secondary school friends had always termed my O' Level grades.
Thus deriving from the gist of it all:
I hate myself.
'Nuff said.
Oh and by the way, the back of my hands are going through some sort of long-overdue post-Sentosa shedding. I feel so serpentine.