Organisation is key.

I'm not a particularly organised person. That is, while I try to keep things in order and have some sort of structure with my life and the things I do, it is often unsuccessful. And, now that I'm 20 years old I kind of really hoped that I would have it all figured out. You know. Myself. I also secretly hope that other people my age are just as baffled about these things as I am because I'm constantly afraid of falling behind in this weird imaginary race I have against time. It's completely irrational but I've seen a random strand of grey hair on my head the other day so maybe that's what continues to cloud my judgement.

Don't get me wrong. I'm trying really hard to be an organised person. I've watched youtube videos of people organising things (that just made me feel like an inadequate person compared to these extremely organised youtube vloggers), I've read those weird wiki-how articles that for some reason always have accompanying visuals despite the subject matter being super mundane (this is not a complaint, I love the visuals). But I just end up being riddled with dozens of post it notes and pages of journals with the phrase "to do" with unticked boxes underneath. And the fact that there are dozens of them serve as a tangible reminder of the things I haven't accomplished. So what do I do now? I don't want to make another list because then it will just add onto the file of the things I haven't done. Maybe I should write a blog post about it. That definitely solves things.

Not emotionally sound (a kind of self analysis).

Most of the time, especially at this point in time, I feel like something is wrong with me. Which is both weird and not at all unusual for a person to think. Generally I see people and think they're having a normal, super fun exciting life but that's just an assumption I make based on what I see of those people. Like they could have a mini zoo of a taxidermy collection in their basement that they like to gaze broodingly at during the night while they sip some sort of dark liquor from a crystal glass-- WE WILL NEVER KNOW.

 I want to say that I understand how everyone doesn't feel quite right all the time, but that's a thing that I also don't know. We see so much in films and the media and whatever minimalistic conceptual art installation in some contemporary museum that people have a sense of dysfunction. And other people who consume this content will look at these things and relate to them with a deep exhale of "Ahh, yes, the feeling of isolation and anxiety. Here's $10,000 I want that on my wall." And that's totally fine. If you have the money and you enjoy art that's cool I feel like I might offend some people.

Recently I've observed something about myself. While I had an uncomfortable talk with another person. I realise that I don't really know how to convey emotion in a completely sincere and honest way. I can't show this person that I care about them or myself. I'm not entirely sure how I feel.

I care about what people think. I care about what I think (obviously, I have this blog and many self-involved stories to prove that). But is that really caring about another person? As I'm writing right now I'm thinking of the people who might read this (and my other posts) and what they'll think about me as a person. Is this post too self involved?

Overall writing this feels kind of like an exhale as well, I guess. A smaller exhale, like a little huff after running after your bus but you missed it so you sigh in disappointment but there's another one in 3 minutes so it's not that bad. Not worth $10,000.

It's been that long (Let me unload everything in this on post).

Hello again. Wow this is getting kind of repetitive. I haven't really written anything in a while-- not because I've been particularly busy or chasing my dreams in a movie-montage- scenario (seriously how cool would that be thought, right? Super cool.)

It's because I forgot. Like, I've literally just forgotten about this blog that I wrote a bunch of dumb and sometimes introspective-- mostly existential-level of idiocy. Though I don't really regret having a blog because it's good to keep a record of thoughts on things and maybe someone will stumble across it while doing a quick google search for dragon pictures and read about this other person struggling with their laptop charger. Also, to read back at what I've written and cringe/cry/laugh at how absurd I sounded a little bit ago.

I don't promise to write everyday or anything but it feels nice to be writing in here again and that this space is still a thing. It's pretty cool.

 How did I use to sign out? PEACE. DROP THE MIC.

Still not cool enough to pull that off. Nothing much changed.

Orange is The New Black is here again. (and no one will hear from me for the next couple of days.)

I watch a lot of television. A lot. Like. So much. It's pretty crazy. Yet it's not really a unique or unusual trait-- especially now with the whole streaming/on demand thing being available ("how did people live before this stuff?" I've asked my cavemen ancestors in my head. I'm really stupid in my head.)

Alas my brother and I decided we should have a Netflix subscription and a whole new world of possibilities were opened, like discovering another universe too beautiful and complex for my tiny mind to even comprehend.

 But they do things so differently. As if they are another species so advanced and so much more evolved than us mere earthlings. They release a whole season in one go. Which is why now I'm waiting for the next season of Orange Is The New Black and seriously contemplating whether I should watch the whole thing or admit mortality and breathe. While Netflix is a beautiful website which has seduced us, is it really right to give up the power and let us decide for ourselves how to watch a whole season? It's like you're just standing on the street and someone randomly comes up to you with your income for the next year.

What now?

(logically you should go to the bank)

Do I spend everything?

(the bank)

Or stash is somewhere secretly in my house?

(bank)

Like... under my pillows.

(No. Bank.)

That's a pretty accurate metaphor. Except instead of money, they hand you a 13 hour long tv series.

Weird human crisis (I'm having a crisis)

As the title of this post suggests, I'm having a crisis. I mean, it's a pretty common thing for human beings to have these existential crises right? Like "what is the meaning of life" "are we a part of reality or simply a figment of Leonardo DiCaprio's imaginations"? Pretty common.

 And what does one do when they have said crisis? Do they seek out for meaning or stand in a public space throwing copies "Inception" DVDs on random passerbys? No, they write about it in their blog.

 While I continue to feel uncomfortable to write or speak about anything genuine or sincere because feelings are just inherently disgusting and painful and gross, I can't help but want to be sincere and honest about this crisis. I'm often jealous of people who seem that have things together, walking around like the world isn't a vast part of an ever extending galaxy, which in itself is just one of the infinite amount of possible galaxies in the universe. How do people not just think about this all the time? Sometimes I get the urge to grab random people on the shoulders and ask "HOW ARE YOU OK WITH THIS?"

Though I know the answer. Or the maybe possible answer on why people don't just have such crises at any given moment or time. It's because there's other things to worry about. They have actual things to do that occupies their minds.

 So instead of having an existential crisis, I decided to think about other things. Like the future and the rest of my life. This terrified me further and lead to a different type of crisis. What am I going to do? I don't have it together. Does everyone else know what they want to do for the rest of their lives? How do you find out? Did everyone secretly get instructions through a colourful leaflet that tells them what their goal is? At least I'm not thinking about the universe anymore. But this still sucks.

I got a new thing. (this got more dramatic than intended)

Remember that time I wrote a poem about my laptop and its whirring sounds of death? Or that one where it just died and I briefly reevaluated my life and how we as a human race will begin to regress due to the internet? Yeah, me neither. It's okay.

I finally did it today. I replaced me laptop. Sure, I'll admit, there was a tingling sense of guilt when I took the new one out of the box and placed it next to the old one (also the fact that I distinguished between them by "new" and "old"-- Sorry old one). Like that video I saw on youtube where this couple got a new kitten and their current cat looked at them with glazed eyes of betrayal and hurt. My laptop looked at me with equal amounts of betrayal and hurt. I just got this thing, a newer and thinner and shinier thing that will do things that my old laptop won't do (it has infinitely better specs... look at that battery life uheruhreuheruir)

I think the main issue here is not that I'm betraying my old laptop but the fact that I'm ridiculously sentimental about everything. Seriously. When I finished a notebook I made an emotional video montage about it. In slow motion. With a song in the background. True story.

 Anyways I'll miss the old laptop and we had some great times together. But now I'm mostly thinking about how much of a bitch it's going to be to transfer all my files across.

Thinking thoughts in my brain (I can't sleep).

Hello again,

Is it weird to start addressing my blog as a living entity? Not that I do it in real life, it's weird enough already through text. What if the blog starts talking back and forming it's own thoughts, gaining intelligence through the internet and everything I've inputted here and then just crawls out of the screen and start rapidly ranting to me about how I've been spewing nonsense for years and now it's my turn to listen to my own blog. I don't know, it may not be a bad thing. What if they have something interesting to say. But am I talking to my blog now? WHAT IS REALITY. 

In other news I'm on chapter 40 of Bukowski's 'Factotum' and I just cannot bring myself to finish it. Not in a good I-don't-want-this-book-to-end-it's-perfect-[Mockingjay whistle]-way. It's just so disappointing because the first book I ever read by him ('Ham on Rye') was so good and perfect and this, quite frankly, just seems like a shitty brag/fantasy of a pervert who is surrounded by really superficially described as disgusting women that all want to sleep with him.

(I'm sorry if you like that book… I mean, if you do, please feel free to tell me why.)

(Maybe I'll finish it and have a different opinion)

(open mindedness right?)

(riuhregouhgsiytreowhyegrh)

'Tis the season (by that I mean for Sherlock Season 3)

Hello blog, how have you been? Good? Good.

So, you know, it's that time of the year again. If you are a child (and for some bizarre and unexplainable reason managed to find your way into the realms of my blog), it is the time of the year when an obese man with a beard squeezes his way down your chimney and leaves your presents under the tree for the exchange of milk and cookies. If you are an adult, it's pretty much the same except you realise you don't have a chimney because no one really has a chimney and your childhood was a total lie.

Have a good one!
Love,
Me.

Barpire (the blogpost where I lost it completely).

There is a (fictional) legend, surreptitiously whispered about a bar around the corner. The bar itself is not called 'The Bar Around The Corner' however contemporary the name seemed, due to the owner's fear of geographical inaccuracy when referring to the bar when the individuals aren't in fact around the corner.

"But what if they were on the same street? Then the bar would be just ahead. Should I call it 'Just Ahead'?" He had wondered to himself. Though the idea had an almost identical flaw and isn't really a solution at all.

 The bar wasn't special and remained unnamed, mainly due to indecisiveness. It bore a blank slate of varnished metal at the front that left enough space for when the indecisive owner finally settles for an appropriate and generally applicable name.

 The (fictional) legend about the bar around the corner was about the owner himself. Though the (fictional) legend remains unbeknownst to him.

 It was that he was a vampire. A life sucking creature of the night that frolics the dark alleyways in search of a prey. This rumour could be blamed on his choice of clothing (collared capes) and the fact that the bar closes precisely by midnight.

 To end this tragic tale, the (fictional) legend of the indecisive bar owner is finally clarified. No, he's not a vampire. He is just an owner of a crappy bar around the corner.

Thoughts on studying (a succinct and eloquently worded account on my feelings towards studying).

I hate it.
So much.

Halloween.

I'm still not quite sure about this festivity, but it is a good excuse to watch Tim Burton films. So, you know, have a good one.

Today's progress:

- almost nothing.
- planning to do one of those montages in films where super cool music plays while I stay up all night manically flipping through books and typing.
- Current essay word count: 252.

Here's one of my favourite short films, if you (like me) do not have the time to watch a 2 hour long flick today:

Continuation. (don't get used to this)

I realise I don't have the ability to focus on just one thing for extended periods of time. Right now, there are 5 tabs open in my browser and there's music from one of them but I'm not sure exactly where. But the music is good so this is not a problem. That was just a series of unnecessary information (aka a summary of my entire blog)

Today's update:

- Cleaned my room.
- Realised I didn't know how to reference correctly.
- Spent a good fraction of the day figuring out how to reference.
- Typed in reference.
- Called human people on the phone.
- Current essay word count: 252.

Will update later. (this is very unlikely).

IN-ESSAY-N (did you get the pun? Yeah, I felt cheap, too.)

Hello, it's been a while. Nothing much has changed. I started University, had 5 children, grew a beard, prevented a possible intergalactic war. Now you're caught on.

I am not a terrible person, but I am a terrible productive person. Meaning I am not a productive person. As a newly-started-University student, I am burdened with several written assignments that I am currently not doing because I am writing a post in my blog. So I thought I would (maybe) make a few regular (maybe) blog posts that update my progress in these endeavours.

Today's progress:

-Thought about writing research report.
-Wrote the word "Introduction"
-Felt it was enough progress.
-Realised it was not.
-Laughed upon realising the research report was on procrastination.
-Current essay word count: 131.

Will update later (maybe).

Questions (Is the ground slightly tilted or is my head tilted?)

It's 5.20am and I am yet to sleep. I feel like this is the time, for me personally, when my brain is at its very peak. It is when we (by that I mean my brain and I, as we are apparently two different entities) think of the real questions.

I know, you may sigh in exasperation.

Anyways, I was watching a Livestream at around 3am and they raised some pretty good questions. Like: "Have you ever peeled an orange so slowly... [then it just trailed off because they started laughing]".

 But it got me thinking... have I ever peeled an orange so slowly? Is there really a rate at which a person can peel an orange which could be universally considered "fast" or "slow"? Is it relative to the size/type of orange? Is a tangerine also an orange? (because there is absolutely no difference to me).

Is time just an illusion? Does the Earth revolve around the sun the other way when we don't sleep? I have so many questions. If anyone can give me some answers that would be very helpful.

Please prioritise the orange peeling question. That is the most important to me.

FRIENDSHIP (it's not that late yet, but my brain is already there)

I need to post more blog entries. I mean, I have the beginning of a few posts but never finished them. So this is a thing that I will finish and publish. And hopefully is not gathering dust in my drafts. Okay, wow, commitment (which brings me to my actual topic-- that's right, I use segways-- REVOLUTIONARY)

 For the majority of my school life, I've had the same few friends. From the same school. Which means that I saw their faces almost every weekday at least once (and even most weekends)

You may even ask: are you not sick of their faces? That's a lot of their faces.

To which I reply with: yes I am sick of their faces.

See, friendship is kind of a weird and wonderful relationship that is like a roller coaster ride, where there are ups and downs and in the midst of it there are doubts because why did I get on this ride? I hope that kid at the front doesn't throw up... I hope I don't throw up... shouldn't have eaten lunch before getting on this ride.

 Such a relationship is not dissimilar to one of a romantic nature. (From what I've gathered. From my extreme lack of experience. Life.) Except you don't kiss each other (not in my friendships at least...) or spend the majority of said relationship assessing them as a potential long-life mate. Despite this, one may argue friendship is more of a commitment because there is that implied and non-verbal agreement that you will be in that roller coaster ride and maybe get some McDonalds later because life is all about living on the edge and maybe this roller coaster metaphor has been stretched to its very limit.

So friendships are cool. I feel like this is the part where I talk about how we should all be friends like that girl from Mean Girls and drop the mic. Is this that part?

Feminism is a thing (a short post about something serious)

 So I find that I've been steering myself away from being labelled as a 'feminist' and the topic of feminism in general (apart from a few passive comments in class). And not necessarily for disagreeing with it but more due to the fear of the preconceived attachments that seem to go with it. A female feminist from what I've been presented with is assumed to be a person that overreacts and dramatically argues and disagrees with everything that portrays females as anything other than the superior sex or gender. In retrospect, this thought process is equally sad and frightening.

I am saddened that there is a potential that other people see feminism as how I (wrongly) saw it and frightening because sexism, chauvinism and misogyny are still very prominent in our society right now. Like, it's actually a thing that is frequently displayed by the media-- on those flashing screens right up in our faces. It's all over the internet and music videos and song lyrics (see 'Blurred Lines'). It's all over patronising individuals that point out the obvious while managing to overlook the actual meaning (see 'ambiguity').

 In conclusion to this short post about something serious, feminism is a thing that is very awesome. And even though the general perception and reputation often falls within a spectrum, at its very core it is still an ongoing movement for equality. And don't be scared to call yourself a feminist.

My thoughts on things. (a generic, yet accurate title)

As a human being with a fully functioning brain, I find that I think about things a lot. Maybe, not as much as I did before, but enough to make me think that I'm thinking too much.

For example, I was watching 'THE SOCIAL NETWORK'/ that movie about Facebook and was unable to finish the film because all I could think of was how Mark Zuckerberg seems like a massive douche. Super smart. But super douchey. And, maybe as it is a film, certain things have been altered about him as a person... I mean, he has brown hair in the movie, for one... which also bothered me (according to Google, he actually has brown hair... my whole life has been a lie)

Then I was being all productive and doing some Biology work when I started likening the idea of DNA transcription/translation to the long and complicated chain of drug trading-- which was really a ridiculous idea, because I found that I do not know enough about how drugs are manufactured and pharmaceutically produced to use it as a metaphor.

And now I'm thinking about the fact that thinking about a lot of things is not a very special trait at all, because as I have stated in the beginning of this blog, it is something that other human beings with fully functioning brains do. And to stop thinking would be for your brain to shut down due to death. And I'm obviously still alive. That was the point of this post. I'm still here (even though I feel like I haven't posted in YEARS-- actually, just a few weeks)

The stages we go through when we stay up late (it's 2am)

1. Heightened emotions. 
Alas, after roughly 4 hours of editing I finished my 19-second- video (granted, eating and reading a chapter from a Star Wars novel 'Splinter of the Mind's Eye' falls within these hours). But it is still 12 am then so I sob into my pillow as I proceed to watch the final product.

2. The urge to be productive.
As I smile at my 19-second outcome playing in a loop for the 143rd time, I catch a glimpse of the piles of coursework untouched. I must finish them now, I can do this. My brain is a monstrous and greedy machine, intoxicated by the rush of rewarding chemicals from the feeling of my previous accomplishment. I do 2 pages of work and watch a whole Season of THE GUILD.

3. Overcompensation for minimal work.
I plop down on my bed and read blogs to the point where I would have to wake up later the next day and have less time to do work.

4. Paranoia.
My bladder betrays me just as I am about to sleep. As I step out, the hallway stretches out into a bottomless pit of doom and I have never ran fasted from Point A to Point B that I remember of.

5. Urge to record experience. 
I wrote about it in my blog.

My revelation about laziness (a journey and self discovery and distasteful diagrams)

I think I may have cracked the code. THE DA VINCI CODE.

Just kidding.

So, as a person with a lot of spare time, I use a majority of this thinking about things like the meaning of life and our purpose as human beings-- basically anything to get my mind off studying for my exams. Whilst in this quest I came up with a reason behind my laziness-- not that I'm implying there is any deeper non-superficial explanation other than my lack of motivation and pure sloth-like characteristics.

Thus, I present a complex diagram:

Figure 1.

As you can see in Figure 1, I would generally not do anything until the very last minute possible. This leads to me overworking in a short span of time, thinking that I've done a lot = a higher assumption for the outcome. However, the outcome is actually very crap and disappointing for me (compared to what I expected) which could lead to thinking that working hard is not worth it.

But that way of thinking is clearly flawed.

(diagrams don't lie)

(especially beautifully articulated diagrams such as that)

Lesson learned. Hopefully.

A small post for my dying laptop.

My laptop sounds like it's dying.

 I don't mean that it's making some sort of terrifying scream of agonising terror upon it's inevitable death.

 For it to be literally dying it has to be a literal living creature (which it is not... that I know of).

 It saddens me slightly to hear what was previously the most quiet and unnoticeable hum has changed into an eerily unsettling buzz.