Things feel very different right now. I know that everything is always changing, everything is constantly moving, and that no matter how static my life seems at the time, my mind is always working. I begin to see things quite differently. I’m really not sure how to explain it. For some reason, my thoughts begin to come around full circle every six months or so. My mind is never at the same place I am.

It’s an odd realization, to know that I’ve changed so much, yet so little within the last six months. I remember telling Sam one time when I was 15 that I probably wouldn’t change from the way I was back then. How wrong I was. There has been nothing but change, change that I can only see long after it has passed. I look back on what I was like in first year, and I become so embarrassed.

And now things feel so odd, as if I’ve never been in such a situation before, as if I’m looking through a new pair of eyes, yet kept my old experiences. It’s such a hard situation to define, since I feel like I can never truly understand it until is over, like the dead in Dante’s Inferno.

None of this feels familiar.

I bought a second ATA133 60GB hard-drive and installed it today. It feels good to get into my case and fool around with the cables and parts. I feel like I’m souping up a car with NOX, where I should be saying stuff like, “My secondary cable is too short, so I had to put both drives on the primary, so my backup drive is running as a slave now”. I bought it to keep as a backup of all my data that I don’t want to constantly burn to back it up; stuff like my current mp3’s, my temporary mp3’s, my tv episodes, my webpages, and my movies. I got some software called Second Copy which backs up all the information automatically. I’ve been getting freaked out from all the reports of hard-drive failures, and hard-drive formatting webcode, so I thought I should find a solution. After all, I wouldn’t want to have to remember every mp3 I downloaded, and try downloading them all again. Although neither of my drives are Fujitsu’s, there have been lots of reports on huge warranty reductions of the major manufacturers in the last few months. Better safe than sorry.

My mattress arrived today, and it feels amazing. I was so used to a crappy, old mattress, that I guess I forgot what good support felt like.

I went to a restaurant called La Gondola for lunch yesterday, to see Melissa Kenny off for her new job, and the service sucked. The food was alright, but I could probably have made most of the stuff at my home. The waitress rushed everyone to get their bills, and didn’t ask a single time how the meal was going. I ordered a decanter of white wine with Natalie, and it tasted watery. I left a $1.00 tip.

I’m not sure if I’m going to look for a job for next term or not. I’m still a full-time student, if my final project is considered as a full course. I’m not really sure where I would work, but I know that I’d be okay with a shit job. I love money too much.

I finally got back a passing mark in my algorithms course, which still means that I’m failing on the whole, with only two weeks left. I’m pleased, I guess.

I found the diary of a bulimic girl. She seemed so lost, not knowing what to do. It was one of the only times where the simple reading of a diary truly scared me. The image of finding blood on one’s fingers after throwing up is what really affected me. I felt so helpless, so sad that there was nothing I could do.

I’m not sure what it is about myself, but I always feel like I should try to relate and help someone who’s depressed. I haven’t completely been there myself (I’ve never been completely depressed or euphoric), so often I feel like it’s not my place to be talking about it. Yet I feel like I can understand such strong emotions.

It makes me feel so forlorn when someone seems like they’re stuck in a hole, with no way out. I always felt that when I was in that hole, nothing could help me out, only the understanding of another person. That person is gone for me now, having changed my life, never knowing it herself.

I realize now that I want to help people in emotional distress because of how I looked up to that person. My admiration for her has made me want emulate her, to help other people the same way in which she helped me. I still remember how much I needed that help. Perhaps if I was able to change someone else’s life, then they could be better off than being stuck in the hole.

It’s so difficult to cure oneself of such emotional distress. After a certain point is reached, one feels so helpless, as if nothing can make things better, and nothing will ever get better. Thoughts eventually lead to suicide, life goes black, ashes turn to mud. It’s something that can’t be escaped alone.

I wish there was something I could do.

For some reason, talking with John with always makes me feel better. It’s uncanny. It’s good to be able to just cut loose and talk, not worrying about what I’m saying. It’s good to be able to relate to someone, to be at the same level of insight. For the last few years, I never feel good after talking with anyone but John.

I actually have three assignments, a test, and two projects left now, within the next two weeks. Hopefully, I’ll be able to finish them.

I was considering going to Hong Kong by myself at the end of the term, and not seeing relatives there. I just don’t want to miss the Christmas season. It’s just not worth it to go without my parents though, and to not be able to see my grandmother. I’d be able to appreciate my time there a lot more with them. It’s a pretty scary idea too; I hate going places I’ve never been to before, cause I’m always scared of getting lost, especially in a place where the language spoken is one which I’m not confident in.

I had a dream last night, a dream that seemed so real, a dream I did not want. A dream of scattered memories sewn together, creating such a perfect world, where love was requited, where I was blissfully happy. When I awoke, everything I had was gone.

All I was left with was hope, and emptiness. I immediately knew that what I had was false, too perfect a world for me to live in. I felt bitter, as if I had something taken away from me which I felt was rightfully mine.

Why would my subconscious trick me so? Why should I feel so terrible, so laden with hope? Couldn’t my mind simply give up this struggle, freely, without interference?

Hope is not a good thing for me. It makes me weak and vulnerable. When I have no hope, then all is known. Nothing is uncertain. I am sure of what I have and what I don’t have. Progress can be made on accepting this. But when hope enters my mind, all progress is lost, and I can only try to fight for what I’ve gained.

Yet I wish to dream again tonight, of memories strewn together, for they were so wonderful, that any let down seems worth it. I don’t know why I’d want to torture myself again, feeling empty and bitter when I wake up. Somehow, the high seems worth it, like some addictive drug Pandora was selling out of her magical box of plagues and death.

Perhaps I actually do believe in what my hope is telling me. Perhaps I need to believe in something, that somehow this will change, that things will be different. Or perhaps I’m simply a fool, willingly falling for something that may make me happy, but empty in the end.

Nothing good ever came out of Pandora’s box.