Taking Notes

Mood: busy
Now Playing: Kelsey, Metro Station

I've been hitting into a lot of things these past few days, and it keeps getting worse that im actually wondering if i should do something about it, like wear armor around the house for instance. It's getting to the point that if there is a piece of furniture nicely tucked out of the way, i will sure as hell find a way to fling myself on it, be it with the use of slippery floor, a sudden emergence of a banana peel or - my gahd, i do not understand how i could've done this - tripping on my own two feet. It's frustrating, believe me.

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Maybe this was how things were meant to be. We can't win against fate if, from the get-go, we were never meant to be the winners, never meant to be the ones that get first prize, or second, or third. Fact is, we're just little bits of people that look up to the sky and stars and hope that one day we'll be just like that - shining so damn beautifully in space. We can't win the race. It's impossible. We can't be all heroes. We all can't have a vorpal sword that goes snicker snack in face of adversity. We can't shed off our identity and adopt our own Jerome Morrow. We can't save our faujkdcking princess from beasts and nightspawns. Why? Because there will always be someone, or in the worst of cases, something that would always side with Fate and the natural order of things and prevent us from going at it. It could be religion. Values. Country. Your own imperfections. The list is many and endless. Bottome line is: there are people that can't win this faudwsdcking race, and im sad to say that a lot of people are in this category. It's just the freaking way things go.

im just typing this in to say that i'm done. Im quitting this damn race for superiority, for love, for passion. Im done, gentlemn. Im through with being clawed upon at the throat, just for a chance at the stars. Im through slaying jabberwockies just for sake of exp points, had enough of being Jerome Morrow, grown sick of saving bitching sissies who just don't know the concept of the word gratitude. Im quitting this godawful race whilst i still have my limbs and sanity left. Don't get me wrong, i'm still shooting for the stars, yeah, that's one thing im still certain of. But the thing is, i can't fucking run to the finish line anymore, espescially with the ferocious line of awful things that have me in their crosshairs. I'll get there, undoubtedly. So you'll excuse me for bowing out of your race that you're so damn bent on winning. Cheers and goodluck with that, mate.

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Recently, i've read Teves' last book, The Wedding, and a line there caught my attention. Basically, he says that we can't remember pain. To borrow his words, "we only remember the fact that something causes pain - fire burns, knives cut - but we're incapable of remembering the pain itself." (Teves, 2010)

There are nights when i beg to differ, and nights where i nod in agreement. How about during the daytime? Of course, i sleep.