Old shit.

Periodically I look back at myself and cringe. I'm skimming my old Livejournal account for kicks, and holy fuck I was so obnoxious four years ago. I talked like any other kid on the internet, minus the chatspeak abbreviations. So fucking annoying.

Some things, like the insistence that art will only ever be a hobby, have changed. And then there are some things that have stayed constant, which I find interesting. Here is an entry from about two and a half years ago.

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The things that bother me, all my problems and worries, seem so trivial and immature when I think them through and write them down. Here they come, in no particular order. Close your eyes.

I don't want to have a purpose in life. I don't want to know what I want to be when I grow up. I don't want to grow up, period. Can you see me being an adult? I can't.

I no longer love to write, because I can't seem to put anything onto paper that's worthwhile in any way. I don't think I've written anything considered good since fifth grade.

Art is only my hobby, and will never be a profession. But it's the only thing I want to focus on, ever. An hour not spent at my little table in the corner sculpting or painting is an hour wasted. It seems to be the only thing that ever makes me happy at the moment.

I don't want to go to college, but it will be embarrassing if I don't. This is probably just my stubborn mind being resistant, but as it is, I just don't want to go.

I've found the college version of CTY, and it's amazing, and it will do absolutely nothing for my future.

Although it doesn't show on the outside, I've been thinking some very violent thoughts lately, and it's unnerving.

Despite evidence to the contrary, I honestly don't think anyone cares about me, not even my best friend. Don't you dare call that emo, because my head will probably implode.

I really don't like when people say I'm good at something, because all I see is hopeless, endless mediocrity. This is the obsessive compulsive perfectionist coming out in me, and I hate her, but she won't stop.

I am wholly uninteresting. And my GPA sucks. So why would a college accept me anyways?

I can't lose weight, and I want to scream whenever anyone talks about it. Especially if it's my mother, or my doctor.

When I get my third term report card (should be any day now), I will have to sit through a very familiar lecture. Or perhaps several.

I blame Barney for making me feel like I was unique way back then. Stupid Barney. I want to kick him.

I don't know why you guys are my friends. Why do you like me? I'm really not that great.

I hate allergies. I've been sneezing all week, and I can't get another pet. I miss my rabbits like hell, and it's almost been a year now.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't atheist, so I could have someone to blame. But most of the times, I'm glad I don't believe in a god; nobody's there to witness my emotions, unless I choose to let them out.

If anyone tells me to go to an adult with my problems, I will break something. Telling an adult will do nothing; it might make my life worse. I'm not depressed, nor am I suicidal. I'm just angry at life. I'll probably stop being angry in a couple of days, or at least stop acting like I'm angry.

I don't even know why I'm telling you guys all this. You probably think I'm nuts.

And gods damn it, I just put my red paintbrush into my blue paint.

Well, how was /that/ for catharsis?

In good news, I just burned up several perfectly good studying hours making a lump of clay look like a pie. I'm out of red paint, I've ruined a couple of my paintbrushes, and I'll probably fail my driver's ed final exam tomorrow (which I should have taken back in February), but hey! It looks like a /pie/!

Hahah, grammar sucks at eleven thirty.

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Hm I wrote this a couple days ago and now it is Thursday. I guess I'll post it anyways. I'm really bad with that; I write so many posts and forget about them or don't feel like posting them anymore.

I don't even know.

Olivia