I couldn’t help myself…

Screaming in the wind

I get really tired sometimes.

The fight for my committee hasn’t even started and I’m already feeling so beaten down and tired. I suppose sometimes all we want is someone to hear us out. And not tell us the task ahead is impossible.

I have enough of impossibles to deal with as it is.

Another day at the office. Another 9 hours of being in my own English-only bubble. The other people in the studio joke around a lot. But I have no idea what they’re saying. And after the first few days, I really couldn’t be bothered to try to figure out what they were talking about.

I worked on the letter during yet another lunch spent alone in front of my computer.

My letter isn’t powerful enough.

I need to rewrite it.

I didn’t draw today.

5.15pm comes around. I leave. Stuff my earphones into my ears and walk back to my apartment where I can sigh and relax into the shrill silence of being utterly alone.

I wish I could speak french.

Maybe I wouldn’t feel so much like an extra appendage if I did.

Maybe if I smoked I would make friends too. Seeing how everyone went on smoke breaks every hour.

I’m losing my appetite. Haven’t been eating much. And I don’t feel like eating either. I’d much rather just lie down and cry out this pent up sadness, anger, stress, loneliness.

Why bother trying if it’s impossible.

I don’t know.

I feel like I’m screaming in the wind, every word and intention I have swept away by a giant tide of impossibilities.