Hello.

I’m not writing this for you. Not for you either. This is just to please my sad excuse of an free loader. It’s sad really. I can’t even slack off properly. Maybe I should just stop before I screw myself up again with trying to be a better person. That’s what I do best. Screw up. Mostly it’s just me who’s suffering, but obviously it affects people around me. I might drop writing this blog right after this post or keep it up for rest of my life. And what I write may or may not make any sense. But that’s up to me. I’ll just write whatever is on my mind, and that’s it. My mind isn’t the most logical thing in existence but I just want to let it out. So you either accept and keep on reading a random, hardly understandable and somewhat long text or leave right now. I said *now*.

Still here? Fine. Just don’t spread any hate, I already know this is all just some sad ranting of a sad little human somewhere on Earth. Or maybe I’m a bot or something. Or maybe there is no “me” at all. Oh, well. I don’t care. In all likeliness you probably don’t care either. And there’s no reason for you to do so.

I actually had a teacher sincerely compliment me when I messed up badly enough to have a 1.5 months worth of native language/literature studies counted as nothing. I suppose I managed to handle the self caused situation well enough to look like a good student who tried and tried to fix things but had to give up in the end.

But that’s only a half truth. The truth is I gave up writing those 4-7 essays long before I told the teacher. I would have probably kept on avoiding her if the final time limit wasn’t the next day. I only talked to her somewhat openly about the bloody essays since I’m not good at avoiding responsibilities.

If I let someone down, I absolutely need to wallow in self pity and punish and torture myself before I can accept my faultiness. A good punishment for me is facing the situation head on. I don’t know if my good student-charade is only a relic from my past or if under all the pain and and solitude I’m actually still deep down what I used to be; a good student, a fine individual and part of the society. …Well, I guess the last part isn’t much more than just a dream, but the other two used to be true at least to some extent.

I know no one and nothing is perfect, and I don’t need to try to be that way either. I know that. But still, the concept of what “perfect” stands for exists. It might only exist in the dreams and thoughts of mankind, but still, the general populace is familiar with what that impossible dreamy word stands for. The sole existence of an idea, or like in this case, of a word is enough to encourage people to apply the idea into their day to day lives. Even when I’m aware of the fact, I can’t stop myself from yearning for a make believe paradise. I’m such a fool.

For whatever reason I’ve always been good at talking to teachers. I guess it’s “professional relationship” or something alike that makes it easier as opposed to speaking to my peers. Teachers often like me, and I often like them. They are generally closer to what I’d call a friend than people my age. I’m kind of a teacher’s pet, I suppose.

It pains me when I let a close acquaintance down by failing to turn in my assignments, and maybe that’s what has been affecting my essay writing. Maybe I just want attention. Maybe I just want someone to notice me, and insist on dragging me along and being there for me. Maybe I just want someone outside my family to be worried about me enough for them to stay with me even if I kick and scream when they try to do so.

But then again, I wouldn’t wish for anyone to be kicked and screamed at. That’d be cruel. And I’m trying to not be cruel. Cruel people aren’t good people. I want to be good.