Reading your old journal entries always make me feel sick and guilty, or bitter and jealous, or angry and annoyed, depending on who is reading this. Not nice to say, but whatever. It's the truth. And I've learned my lesson about not being honest.

Reading my old journal entries make me feel nauseous. Maybe I should delete them. Delete that part of my life.

But, you know, that part still isn't over. Maybe it never will be.

Sometimes I feel alone.

It's not your fault, though. You're not even a person. You're hollow, a shell of a person - without the flesh inside? No, that's not right. The other shell. When I hold you, I hear nothing but the ocean waves wishing and washing and giving but then taking back. You go through the movements, you watch carefully but on the inside you just can't see outside. It's like the way they thought the eyes worked, they thought the light came from the inside instead of the outside but you don't have a light so you can't see. There's no flame inside. You try to expand and reach out your arms but you just swallow everything up when they enclose around me. Like an anti-presence, a black hole. And I'm drained and I'm everything and I'm nothing and I just don't even know how to be. You're anti-matter, the negatives of a film, the reflection of a mirror. You take and take and take. You try to give but you can't. It's not your fault that you're the galaxy when I'm grasping for fistfuls of earth, trying not to float away into nothingness.

It's my fault for expecting anything more, or less.

Expecting anything at all.

Weapon of choice: Crowbar. It's lightweight and durable. Not only could I fight up close and personal in combat, but I could also destroy stairs, use it as a crude hammer, or use it as a climbing hook. Above all, it is not merely a weapon but also an extremely versatile tool, as I can use it to open crates and for all of the aforementioned uses.

Also, I've been hit in the head with one, and I know how much it fucking hurts and how much damage I could do.

I'm falling into lists; apparently, that's the only place I feel comfortable right now. I think it makes me feel more productive or something. This is just a list of stuff I did during the holidays, not including actual life stuff, like visiting relatives and all that. Just the media and pop culture stuff.

Read 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings'
Went through every post (over 1000) of my favourite blog
Watched all of the Lord of The Rings movies
Read 'Will Grayson, Will Grayson'
Cleared and sorted school and personal mail
Watched every Muppet movie (subtract the new one)
Drew my first digital drawing
Watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Read 'Maniac Magee'
Watched Once
Went to my first bar and strip club
Watched Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows
Unlocked three characters in Mario Kart 7
Watched Puss in Boots like 10 times

It was fun but I'm tired so my mind makes it feel like a waste of time.

COMPLETED

1. Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast by Bill Richardson

2. Harry Potter Film Wizardry by Brian Sibley

3. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

4. Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher

5. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

6. The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi

7. Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl

8. John Dies at the End by David Wong

9. Coraline by Neil Gaiman

10. Wicked by Gregory Maguire

11. Before I Die by Jenny Downham

12. It's Kind Of A Funny Story by Ned Vizzini

13. The Girl Who Invented Romance by Caroline B. Cooney

14. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling

15. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling

16. Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling

17. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling

18. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling

19. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling

20. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling

21. The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks

22. Stardust by Neil Gaiman

23. Sisterhood Everlasting by Ann Brashares

24. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

25. The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket

26. The Reptile Room by Lemony Snicket

27. The Wide Window by Lemony Snicket

28. The Miserable Mill by Lemony Snicket

29. The Austere Academy by Lemony Snicket

30. The Ersatz Elevator by Lemony Snicket

31. The Vile Villiage by Lemony Snicket

32. The Hostile Hospital by Lemony Snicket

33. The Carnivorous Carnival by Lemony Snicket

34. The Slippery Slope by Lemony Snicket

35. The Grim Grotto by Lemony Snicket

36. The Penultimate Peril by Lemony Snicket

37. The End by Lemony Snicket

38. Paper Towns by John Green

39. The Odyssey by Homer

40. Sir Gawain And The Green Knight by Unknown

41. No Plot? No Problem! by Chris Baty

42. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

43. Wild Things by Dave Eggers

44. Zombicorns by John Green

45. Dracula by Bram Stoker

46. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

47. Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli

48. Maus I + II by Art Spiegelman

49. Lost at Sea + Entire Scott Pilgrim Series by Bryan Lee O’Malley

50. Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green & David Levithan

In 2011, I:

Completed the 50 book challenge
Was accepted to and attended University
Moved to a new city and a place of my own
Made zero new friends or even acquaintances
Became a published artist in a zine
Wrote a 100 page script
Rid myself of unwanted baggage in the way of friends
Shared even more personal experiences with even more people I shouldn't have
Improved in my artwork and found my style
Turned 19, had my first legal drink, went clubbing and to my first strip club

It's a small number of things, but each was extraordinarily huge. I don't have much in the way of new year's resolutions, but I do have two new rules I'm trying to adhere to:
1. Don't care too much.
2. Shut up.

Happy new year, I guess?

I am a hopeful pessimist.

I hope for the best, and expect the worst.

That way, nothing in between can surprise me.

I TRIED

I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED

it didn't help.
nothing helps.

Okay, so complaining earlier was ended too soon apparently, because I got my English essay back today.

It's not a horrible mark, it's just average. Mediocre. But that's not what makes me mad.

What makes me mad is that the comments are so freaking positive but the mark is average. For example, "Your thesis statement is highly original and interesting." Okay, good. That's what I was going for. I was going to originality. I thought out my thesis statement for weeks, perfecting it and crafting it cleverly and with the love of a crack addict. And yet, my mark is average.

Let's continue.

The comments also say, "Demonstrates a profound and careful reading." Profound. Thanks, I guess. Could you give me a mark that demonstrates your thoughts on my essay? That's be awesome. It also says, "Your text was strong and stimulating!" Yeah, I know, I worked my ass off on it because I love English. But my work is mediocre. My work is like everybody else's. People who wrote obvious theses discussed in class or regurgitated information that they heard in class.

Yeah, some of my statements are a bit general. Yeah, I could have proofread and avoided a couple of minor grammar or spelling mistakes. Yeah, I fucked up my citation page (what the fuck? why is the book title not in italics? how the shit did I make that mistake?). Even so, these minor mistakes, IMHO, do not make the page a typical, ordinary, common, standard paper.

Originality, in marking, gets you nowhere. I could have written an obvious thesis statement. I could have regurgitated information. I could have learned nothing and spent no time on the paper, and no doubt done better than I have with the paper I wrote. But instead, I wrote an original paper. I thought it was pretty goddamn good. I was proud. And for what? A 72. A 72 for working my ass off.

I wouldn't even care if not for the extremely positive feedback. I wouldn't even care if not for the assumption that I did very well. I need to, apparently, learn nothing in University in order to do well. Instead of thinking creatively, I need to create a formulaic response of vomited words that have already been provided to me.

Thanks, I'll keep that in mind for next time.

There's no point, really. I just haven't complained to anybody lately, and seeing everybody else complain makes me want to complain, too. Makes me jealous or something, I don't know. Whatever. Anyway, don't read it because it doesn't really matter. I'm fine, I'll always be fine. Tired, but hey, so is everybody else. I'm sure everybody else is busier and more upset and they'll all say 'at least this' or 'at least that' so don't bother reading. I don't want the bullshit. I'm not even that upset, but maybe I should be. I don't know. Whatever.

I skip classes all the time. I don't bother going because there's no point. I can learn more if I stay home and teach myself. And you know what? That's pretty pathetic. How about we just don't do school? How about I stay home and work and teach myself and I'll just give you all of my money? And then when I've paid it all off you can just give me my freaking BA (It's not like it will get me anywhere, right? That's what everybody else says). That's what's happening. I'm paying you for a BA and I'm not learning anything because our education system is useless.

50s, 60s, 70s all around. Below average, average marks. Look at me, I'm Miss Average. Instead of Super Girl, I could be Average Girl or Mediocre Girl. And everyone can come to me if they want to learn how to be so average and boring. You're well on your way to an A! The TAs cry. Yeah, well. I've been well on my way for quite some time, sweet pea, looks like it's just not happening. Let's just focus on passing, alright? Fuck doing well, working my ass off gives me the same results as not trying at all, so what's the point?

By the way, let's give out some fucks, alright? Fuck you classes for being so goddamn boring and sucky. Fuck you, art class, for charging me a whatever the fuck it was fee for a required safety kit that I haven't even gotten yet. Fuck you for charging another whatever it was for a field trip to a bloody art gallery so I couldn't go, and then demanding an essay about the goddamn experience I couldn't afford. Fuck you for scheduling another gallery trip on a day when I have my least favourite class, and making me go on my own time (that I don't have). Fuck you essay, for being mediocre and apparently descriptive. Fuck me, for sharing such a personal experience and getting an average mark. Fuck you, psychology, for fucking me over and being hard and junk. Fuck me for being so goddamn stupid.

Fuck you stupid people in my hall, for pissing me off and being complete assholes and then expecting me to come to the stupid floor meeting. Stop knocking on my goddamn door because I don't want to answer it for any single one of you. Fuck me for actually being surprised when somebody actually speaks to me, and fuck me for being disappointed when it's a staff member or a soph, whose job is to talk to me when nobody else will. Fuck all you stupid bitches who say stupid things and enjoy looking stupid. Fuck you all for having a dandy time being stupid together. Fuck me for being lonely, and fuck the people who say, 'Well, at least you have Hayley." Yeah, I know I have Hayley, I would have killed myself by now or moved back home already if I didn't have Hayley. I don't need you to tell me how lucky I am, even if I am lucky. Sometimes it doesn't matter what you have, sometimes what you don't have is more important. Even if it makes me a spoiled brat, it doesn't really matter. So what, I'm a bitch. Whatever. If I cared, I wouldn't be a bitch.

Fuck the assholes who smashed my pumpkin and fuck the assholes who swore at me in Spanish. Fuck the people who don't move for you on the sidewalk. You know the people. You're walking alone and they're in a huge group, and they don't move to the side, you you have to walk in the muddy grass because it's either that or air hump the shit out of them because they don't have the goddamn courtesy to move the fuck over. Fuck public transit, for coming early all of the time and making me miss my bus. Fuck my stomach for being an asshole and fuck my never-ending headache. Fuck my teeth for destroying my head and fuck my ankle for having a misshapen bone. Fuck the world, for giving me an awesome experience but then cutting it way too short. It should be a good thing, but fuck it, I don't want any good things.

I don't want any pros, or pluses, or positives. No silver linings or bright sides. I just want to complain and complain and that's it. Fuck my being unable to sleep ever and fuck my natural sleeping hours (which are something like four in the morning to noon). Fuck my hair for not healing fast enough for me to continue destroying it. Fuck my wardrobe for lacking in every aspect and fuck the clothes I wear for not even being the kind of style I like.

Fuck me for wanting everything to be perfect, for paying a shit ton of money for something just because it's good quality. Fuck me for believing quality is much much better than quantity. Fuck me for spending money on something I want but don't even need, for spending money on something that I don't have the money for. Fuck me for realizing all of this and doing it anyway. Fuck the system.

Fuck me for being behind in my novel writing. Fuck me for losing again. Fuck me for being sick the one night I had hours and hours of free time, wasting it by wasting away. Fuck me for using the little time I have attempting to be inspired rather than doing the inspiring, rather than creating. Fuck not doing artwork and fuck writing. Maybe I won't write my novel any more. There's no point. Everybody else is sane enough to not write a novel this month. So why should I? Everybody else thinks it's stupid, clearly, because they're not doing it. So what's the fucking point?

Fuck the things l like for being useless. Fuck me for even trying. Fuck everything I do for being mediocre at best. Fuck my artwork, which nobody pays attention to (who can blame them? it's awful). Fuck my writing because according to my essays, it's mediocre. It's fragmented and it's colloquial and it is descriptive and not analytical. Descriptive my ass. I'll describe the shit out of you. I'll describe this fucking apple and it'll take up three goddamn pages and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Fuck it because there will always be somebody better at what you do, no matter how hard you try.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Okay, I think I'm good.

To sum up: People suck, places suck, everything sucks.

But seriously, fuck this shit.