It's killing me, but why do...
It’s killing me, but why do I have to drown first?
So now I sit, rather precariously, in my room, on an uncomfortable chair stolen (not by me) from one of the tutorial classes, my legs touching the top of the monitor (which is predictably, on the table). And I wonder why do I get backaches.
It has been an extremely busy week, with frequent visits down to town to develop our photos. The assignment is due this Thursday, and already I am dreading the words that may be uttered monotonously by Lecturer A. Reshoot. Reject. Redo. My passion for photography is fading. Perhaps passion is too strong an adjective – I do not believe I have ever really considered taking it as a hobby, anyway. But I know I will have to stay away from cameras and films for a very long time, before I have the courage to pick it up again without being reminded of the bad memories of empty wallets after paying for the developed photos; the discouraging consultation hours with the lecturers. But the one thing that tops it all has to be the loud, unnecessary arguments that ensue whenever I go for photo-shooting with my parents (some other lucky dude won my Renault Kangoo in The Star’s weekly crossword puzzles) – yes, the household was practically turned upside-down to accomodate to my photography needs – and it makes me guilty everytime I think of it.
I just do not want to trouble others anymore; I do not want to rely on them again and again. It is threatening a rift in the family. I must be just too darn helpless and stupid to do things by my own. I think I am getting paranoid; but I have mentioned once before that I do not like having people to help me. Things just do not turn out the way I want them to be – but I guess that happens to others, too.
I need to learn to be more independent, I suppose.
It is a short trimester, but it sure is one hectic one. While students from other faculties seemed to be breezing through with only two or three subjects, we are juggling with two heavy subjects which would take up way too much of our time to concentrate on the other two considerably ‘lighter’ subjects (Operating Systems and boring Malaysia Studies, that is). My roommate was high on her frustration level, and asked me to turn up the volume and play the rock songs available in abundance on my hard drive. I could only managed Filter and Deftones. I noted in amusement that she was trying to sing along to Avril Lavigne. I always had to resort to using the headphones because my housemates do not fancy having me rocking the house down.
The only consolation for the start of this long week is that my mother phoned and told me that the Filter’s latest album The Amalgamut has safely found its way to my house. I was afraid she might bring up the issue of a ‘Parental Advisory’ note that may be stuck on the cover of the CD, but she did not mention anything.
She, Interrogates: Oh my, what have you been listening to? What’s this sticker doing on the cover? a look of suspicion and disdain visible on her face
Poor Me: Nothing, it’s just a, uhm.. CD? (unconvincingly, of course)
She, Interrogates: launches into full lecture mode as she jabs repeatedly on the said sticker
How could I blame her if she does that? Imagine her little ballerina snorts turning into.. anyhow, successfully receiving two free CDs have erased my doubts of the postal system and the unreliability of contest gifts won from radio stations – although not completely.
And so, I often look on forlornly at the stale, not updated state of Rantglass.
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