miss stina

Terrible. Terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible. It is actually so terrible that I typed out every single "Terrible" instead of just copy pasting.

"How did you go on your psych exam today?"

"Terrible."

"But psych is so easy and the questions were multiple choice-"

"TERRIBLE."

I don't know what to make of myself. At times I feel so insanely happy, then at times I feel like there is nothing motivating me to move forward in my life and grow up. I failed a psych exam today. The Arts hippies were probably clucking their tongues in disapproval.

My result would turn the entire bell curve into a negatively skewed graph, my one shit result being at the complete end of the left tail, while everybody else's sits comfortably within the 'pass' region. I can picture the machine, trying to figure out what the hell I had completed my exam in (eyeliner, as a pathetic substitute for a pencil), then just concluding someone had basically taken that exam paper and wiped their ass with it, and had somehow managed to sneak it into the pile of other papers, papers which, unlike mine, are destined for a big fat pass.

I am almost in tears. Why didn't I remember to bring a pencil and eraser! The examiners had none left. I could change any of my answers, even when I realised that some were obviously wrong.

I don't like Melbourne University. I don't like the masses of geniuses who attend and I especially don't like being compared to them. I am competent in some areas. But proving myself whilst trying not to let other student's and their ridiculously high IQ's affect me is not one of them.

The saddest thing of all is, I would transfer to somewhere and do a course I actually like. For example, I would transfer to RMIT and embark on some freakin' sweet creative course (I watched Napoleon Dynamite last w/e). But I can't, because I can't leave Melbourne, because that would make me a failure. To my family, it would leave me stranded for future work options and to myself, it would strip me of the empty prestige I revel in when I think about the fact that I attend the best University in Australia. I seemed to have forgotten that along with the so-called 'best quality education' comes its genius students, spilling forth their clever brains onto the school courtyards, the lawns, the libraries. All I see are giant, walking brains. Glowing and full of knowledge. I know I sound a bit weird right now. I'm in that kind of mood.

Two other thoughts:

-I couldn't help smiling everytime I saw a guy with a moustache today. Even the ones who have obviously struggled to grow a few straggly strands on their upper lip; I find you all hilarious. Unfortunately, I still wax my upper lip this month and so I will not be joining you guys in all your moustache glory. Maybe next year.

-I love Waz. It kind of always amazes me that I could feel so certain about someone. When I turn into a senile old grandma I will still love you. And hopefully my senility will get rid of the sore memory that is Melbourne University along the way.

Oh no, wait. I have another thought.

So I know I've blogged about you before, only I've always kept your identity secret. Well tonight I'm still letting you stay anonymous. But I'm this close to saying your name out loud, just so I can let whoever reads this know that it's you, and you're the one person I despise. Since I can't make you face me so I can cram these words down your throat, because I'm too stubborn to act as though I'm aware you exist, I will just write what I feel here.

You are a fuckhead. You are, quite possibly, the shittest person alive. I fucking hate you with a passion. I just can't believe I've dedicated so much time and brainpower, towards fucking hating you. What a waste of my life. And you know what? I don't care. I'm hating because you're hating.

I knew it was there in you, waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to come out. I'm glad I gave you that excuse; because I got to see who you really were. Now, words cannot describe my opinion of you. They really can't. Because an adequate enough vocabulary has not yet been crafted to cater to my word selection when I think of you. Yes, this is one complicated hatred. Because you are one complicated, hateful, spiteful little shit. You're the mother of all messed up, hateful, spiteful little shits. And you're so goddamn petty. You were always like that. Old habits die hard, yours ain't gonna die at all. You stupid shit.