The most recurring myth about myself is that I am a very intelligent person. As if academic grades were supposed to mean a damned thing. There are so many things that I lack to be an "intelligent person" that I can't even start counting them. The truth is, there are situations that I simply cannot handle. There is no rational or emotional way for me to do it - I simply cannot deal with them. When facing them, the only thing I can think about is "why the fuck haven't I left earlier today?", and the only thing I can wish is for a 9.0 intensity earthquake to swallow everything around me, with me included of course.

The fact is, this kind of shit tends to wear me out, to the point where the smallest thing makes me burst out in a rather violent fashion. It's been a while since that happened. Quite a while, actually. And I know now that I'm rather filled up, so the burst will be coming soon. I'm completely worn out, as if there was nothing left for me to do. As if I needed to reboot my whole life, and change the hard drive and the random access memory while I'm at it - if I do have a random access memory, that is. Sometimes I feel like leaving here. For quite a long time I felt that my place wasn't here, that I should leave the country and make a living somewhere else. Back then I had dreams, but dreams are so easlily shattered. I don't think about it anymore. Sometimes it comes to me that I should, but then I think again and find it pointless. Failure for failure, I might as well fail here, within my own culture, even if the whole country has become an unbearable shithole. Sometimes I feel I should leave the city and find a place somewhere in a countryside town, a small one where life could be a little easier and where I would know no one. A fresh start, taking no one with me. Start doing some mindless job to keep me busy and with bread on the table. Start sleeping in time, eight hours per day. Learning to enjoy loneliness, the only absolutely reliable thing in the world. Tired of this, really.