lena.txt

Like a pixie on acid...

Not the romantic, lovey dovey, heart eyes way.

The "omg this book is so good" way

The "wow I had such a lovely day today" way

The "isn't the sky just so pretty?" way

The "you didn't need to do that, but thank you" way

The "no way! That's so cool! I'm so proud of you!" way

The "maybe I kind of enjoy being with myself sometimes. Just a bit" way

Ts hits different after an academic crisis

Like what if my daily check in things (I need to restart those lol) are lesdays.txt or smth like that? My rants lesrants.txt? And then my random shit lestruths.txt? Etc etc. Idk lmao just think it might be nice to reorganise everything, though that would be hella tedious.

Like genuinely, when did each day become some dull, excruciatingly long trail that I have to tediously crawl on all fours through, just to restart the same torturous cycle again? When did sleep or hobbies or taking a break become a liability? When did studying become something I can barely stay awake for? When did my love for learning die?

Ik I absolutely hated my GCSE period, but I highkey miss it. Back then, I used to have some semblance to life flowing in my bloodstream. I used to sit down and study all of my different subjects for hours, even when I hated trying to understand the motor effect for Physics or writing a code for Computer Science because I felt like I was conquering something when I finally got it right. I think that's how I managed to get better grades than I expected; studying was never an obligation, it wasn't quite "fun," but I still managed to find some inkling of light through it. Studying was something I did without thinking, something that lit a tiny fire in my chest that lit up the cold nights where I had nothing better to do. It gave me a sense of purpose.

And that's really ironic, because looking back, I don't think I would've said the same thing. I remember being almost as tired as I was now, upset that I gave up all my hobbies just to have more time to study. Now I'm back at taekwondo, starting at a new piano school, and picking up the pen and paper. But I still feel miserable. I still feel that bone-deep fatigue and blurry pressure behind my eyes. Because through it all, I feel guilty. I feel scared. Because I'm not studying as nearly as much as I'm "supposed" to. Because my flame is no longer solely my academia, it's been distributed among other things, rendering it weak and feeble.