Back to (a semblance of) Normal

What is normal?

I think I’ve lost my, erm, touch. It took me 3 whole hours to do a 5-page reaction paper about the American foreign policy. Given that the whole thing is supposed to be double-spaced, I technically just have to put in two and a half pages. And yet, it took me three whole hours to say this at the end:

As of the moment, though, I tend to see everything as hopeless. I am inclined to believe that everything will simply get worse. It’s all a never-ending cycle of love and hate, and faceless policemen are spinning the wheel, laughing like hyenas and spitting on my face.

There’s also a 3-page paper for SocSci. It took me a substantial time of staring at the monitor to realize that I have no point to make. I tried relating the stuff to George Orwell’s 1984, but my argument all goes haywire. I have nothing to say. Maybe tomorrow (in the classic manana habit) I will.

I dunno, maybe all this babble will take your mind off the past few days. No? Of course, not. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make you feel good about my decision. I’m not even asking you to try. If I finally realize that I’ve made the worst mistake of my life, there’s only one thing I’ll ask you to not do: poke me in the eye and tell me ‘I told you so’. I know that I’m taking an enormous leap of faith in deciding to forgive him. I won’t ask you to leap with me. I won’t ask you to stand by me or even catch me when I finally fall.

Just…don’t tell me ‘I told you so’. Believe me, I’m going to receive enough abuse from myself and I wouldn’t be needing yours, thank you.

If, however, I realize that I’ve just made the best mistake of my life, don’t look so glum. I won’t, in all due charity, tell you that you were wrong. Let’s all love and respect each other, shall we?