I realized that my writing is very dry.

I always wonder who reads this. I try to never write for anyone else; after all, the things I write about are things that bother me, that I need to get down. It puzzles me sometimes when I read people’s journals, and they start to talk to their friends about something, or to some phantom audience. I can understand why one would do that though, since the point of some are to inform friends of how one is doing. More often than not, however, it seems to be an exercise in narcissism.

I wonder what someone would think of me, if they were reading this without ever meeting me. Would they be able to see all sides of me? Would they be able to understand who I really am? Most of the time, what I write is out of necessity, and ends up being some sort of complaint, rant, or confusion.

I think most people would believe that I’ve lost hope. It’s quite the contrary really. Ever since the summer, I’ve gained hope to a degree. Of course, I’ve often stated that hope is a bad thing, and I still feel that way to a degree.

What I’ve come to realize is that I should possibly try to hope for the future, but not get my hopes up. The difference between the two is in length of time. Getting one’s hopes up has a more short-term connotation for more tangeable ideas, whereas hoping for the future is thought of as hoping for something that is currently unknown. If the future is ever to become the present, I’ll try to keep myself more grounded.

And if the present were to come to fruition?

Maybe it would be a good thing.

Leave it to a single phone call to fill me with worry. Now I’m anxious about my marks, my mid-terms, my projects, my graduation, my life. Pat gave me a pep-talk yesterday, and it helped. Graduation seems uncomfortably close. I’m dying to know how the story ends.

Patrick was nice enough to come up to me and start a conversation the other day. I asked him how his work was going, and he told that he’s really enjoying it. He let me know that the Montage project in becoming really big, and they might be looking for more workers, and that if I send Chau my resumé and let him know that I can work full-time during the summer, I might be able to get a job in development, instead of informatics.

God, my sentences are becoming more and more structured like something Henry James would have written, although I’m sure I’m not able to be as descriptive, or as brilliant, since he’s a well renowned author infamous for being garrulous, whereas I’m simply a computer science student, only able to write when necessary.

There seem to be a few Five Alive flavours on the market, such as “Tropical”, “Citrus”, or “Peach Passion”, but none taste as good as “Berry”. Aaron, Trolley, and I all agree that it tastes like Skittles. The juice from concentrate has a slightly varying taste from the one in the bottle; I find the latter to be a little more tart and a little sweeter.

I’m getting a new Intellimouse Explorer sent to me via snail mail, thanks to Trolley. I called up Microsoft, told them that my mouse button was double-clicking when it should have single-clicked (as instructed by Trolley), and they told me that they would send a new one, free of charge. I don’t even need to send my current one back. I got my current one four years ago, and I remember spending $100 on it. The pads of it have been worn out unevenly, causing a noticeable wobble. The latest design of the Intellimouse Explorer has a lower, sleeker profile, and more easily accessible thumb buttons. Yay.

After talking with my geology professor I feel dumb as fuck. I almost failed my mid-term; my mark was the second lowest in the class, even with a generous grade curve. I think I did considerably well, considering the fact that I had three mid-terms that day, and the fact that I find my mind to be dead when I have my Tuesday lectures after a 7:30am lab. Apparently, I have very little common sense. Although I know that zinc is the main ingredient is sunscreen, or that soft-drinks contain carbon, I don’t know that nitrogen is an important element in fertilizer or that graphite is a popular industrial lubricant. The list of what I don’t know goes on and on. I had no fucking clue that baking soda is sodium bicarbonate. To my prof, all of this is general knowledge, so it’s assumed when dealing with the course. I was never good at chemistry, and my programme of studies isn’t even close to related. I also took the prerequisite at the beginning of university, which is four years ago. Fuck.

Four consecutive writing days in a row. Balls.

Pat called me yesterday to see how I was doing. How fucking amazing is that? When I found out, the back of my nose felt tightly congested, and the rims of my eyes started to tingle. I need to be more like Pat. I realized yesterday that he’s like my preacher; he’s the only one I can talk to without fearing judgment or embarrassment. It’s not that my other friends aren’t understanding, it’s that Pat is able to see the motivations that drive the actions one does, without worrying about whether the consequences are for better or worse. He’s able to see the good in many people, and I guess that I need to be reminded that I have some good in me on occasion.

I think I need boobs. I bought a turtleneck during a boxing day sale. I found it on a table stacked with other motley piles of clothes, in the middle of the store, for 50% off. I didn’t try it on, since the lines for the change rooms were ridiculously long. I got home and tried it on, and it felt a little…large. I tried to shrink it in the wash, but it only slightly worked, because it still fit in an odd way. I realized today that it might be a girls’ turtleneck, and that the extra room in it might be for a healthy rack. I’m not completely sure, because I’ve never tried on what I know to be a girls’ turtleneck, and the beige colour isn’t particularly feminine. I suppose I could try to return it since it hasn’t been worn yet, and hasn’t been (noticeably) washed, but I’d rather have the boobs.

I’ve tried to change the date and time coding in PHP, so that it more accurately represents when the entries were written, but no such luck. The server this is hosted on is located in Hong Kong, which is about 13 hours ahead, so all the entries seem like they’re written 13 hours into the future. I found out how to edit the values of the date and time, but only when it’s from a current timestamp, and not when it’s being retrieved from a database. I might just try to figure out a way around everything if I really feel the need to have accurate numbers.

I think that I stop reading during particularly stressful school terms. My free time alone is generally divided between gaming and reading, and when I need some stress relief then gaming is just able to deliver much better. As Doug and I discussed, we’re able to lose ourselves, to just let go of everything else and be completely absorbed. Sometimes my stress will spill over though, and I’ll feel the need to write.

Why do I feel better after writing what I cannot profess to others?