*insert title*

lvysaur:

sluttyoliveoil:

lvysaur:

lvysaur:

when i say peeka you say boo

peeka

chu

shut the fuck up

why am i not good enough? why is it that whenever i look around me there’s somebody better than me at something. even the things i thought i was good at. i’m just being an overconfident prick when i think that i can be good at something. this is me. useless, worthless, incompetent. so why do i even try?

seifukucat:

here we have a wonderful piece of 13th century art

wow isn’t that just majestic okay let’s take a little closer look at this masterful work

oh

whoever said high school is the best years of your life has obviously never gone through it

interesting courses ruined by horrible teachers 

I love reading and writing. Ideally, I would like to spend my free time being absorbed by a good book, preferably of the classics kind – and I don’t mean ancient Greek or Latin works; I was merely referring to the Victorian literature made famous by the likes of Austen and Dickens. Truth be told, however, I’m not really into either Austen or Dickens. I’ve only read Emma by Austen and that was painful; I didn’t even bother to finish David Copperfield because I kept forgetting the characters’ names. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them; I’ve never really been into chick-lit, and I’d imagine David Copperfield would be quite a good read if only I have the time to devote to it and not get interrupted by other works which I have to read for class. Maybe I’ll pick it up again in the summer, when I no longer have to worry about keeping up my 80% average and all that awaits me is freedom.

The problem here is that I’m neither a good reader nor a good writer. I just read a book and say, “Well, that was interesting” and put it away. That’s not what a good reader does. A good reader takes it and says, “Oh, here’s some implications about women’s roles… and here’s some moral issues… oh look, symbolism…” Nope. That’s not me. I wish I could do that. I wish I could just look at something and know what the deeper meaning is. Like my teacher. I aspire to be like him, which is why I took his course and am pursuing English in University. I want to be that person who can look past the print into the depths of the texts where the message lies, pluck it out, and then show it to everyone else so that they, too, could marvel at the beauty of literature. I guess I do see the messages every now and then, but I just see them and forget about them. Maybe I should start reading with a pen and paper and just take notes as I write. But what’s the enjoyment in that? Then I suppose if I really want to improve as a reader I’ll just have to put away my selfishness and do my work.

I don’t write very often. When I do I’m usually ranting. Like now. I’m ranting about how I’m not a good reader or writer. My grammar is not perfect. My word choices are poor and there’s nothing interesting my writing style to suck in readers. I’m just a boring person. I’m just extremely by the book. I do what is asked of me, and that’s all there is. Sometimes, I try to go the extra mile, but then it doesn’t work out, and I revert back to the old stuff. The boring, formulaic old stuff.

Like this essay that I’ll have to write in class on Wednesday. I don’t even know how to start it. It’s a personal opinion essay that I’ll have to defend using examples from the text. But what am I supposed to really do? I don’t even have a thesis that I like. My theses all begins with “The ____ is ____ because of ____.” What do I do? I’m freaking out. I can’t even begin my essay. Everything is just… so demoralizing. I don’t think I’m cut out to become an English teacher anymore. I don’t think I’m cut out to do anything. I’m not good at anything. I’m trying and I’d like to think that I’m improving, but sometimes I look back and I’m just standing right where I started. How do I move forward? What must I do? Will I be stuck here forever?

In the end, it all comes down to this anxiety feeling, this insecurity that I have about my own capabilities. I know it’s better to stop worrying and just get the work done, but I just can’t stop. Right now I’m just so nervous about losing my acceptance that it’s all I think about and it’s killing me. It’s not hard to maintain an 80% average and I know that, it’s just that I feel so inadequate. I feel like I can’t do it and everybody tells me I can, but they’re not my teachers and even teachers can’t read the future. I feel as though everything I do is futile, that there’s no way for me to go except either down or nowhere, and it’s stressing me out and I don’t know how to manage it…

See, I’m not a good writer. I just went off on a tangent. The worst thing is I do this on my tests. I get so absorbed that I forget the purpose of my writing. This is really upsetting and demoralizing… 

I have an essay to prepare for for Wednesday what am I doing with my life typing out a rant like this?