Today is the day before my math final. I really shouldn't be on here, instead, I should be studying. It's kind of like the "calm before the storm". I feel calm, carefree about my stresses, ignorant about my impending doom come time July 30th 3:10 P.M.

Anyways, the only thing that is floating around my noggin right now is:

"How in the world do English majors get a steady job?"

The whole communications department seems like a high risk job field. When your career is based around your writing skills, it could be a very subjective job.

What if your essay isn't good enough?
What if you get writer's block?
Etc. Etc.

In the science field, everything is guaranteed security. Whatever you produce, it can be proven. Whatever is written, it has evidence proving your statements. Everything has support. Nothing can be disputed, nothing can be interpreted differently.

This is probably illogical, but hey, I'm only 17.

I'm the second person who shouldn't be here, on E2. I should be taking my picture for the passport, paying the taxes, seeing my friends, going for mum's shopping items, see grandma and grandpa, and lot of things that, right now, pass my mind's gateway system.

I'll probably do these later on; now, I just have to get some stuff off my chest.

But, first, I'll go pull on my dress and sandals so that I could manage catching up a bit with time...


Last night, I cannot remember if it was You that I dreamed about, or actually You did call. The weirdest part is that I remember something related to you questioning me about dreams. Mine. And a lot of whispering.

Strange enough, my phone had restarted on its own, and shows no other proof of either hallucinations or reality.

But I sure remember You, that's a fact.

Meanwhile, whilst inhaling another dose of tar from my cigarettes, I continue to think about melting whispers along each other's epidermis...

It's been so little since our last good-bye, but I long for you in a horrible, terrible, almost hurting pleasure and lust.

I know I'm overheating my CPU here, 'cause nothing happened between us, in order to embed us both with such utopias about journeys onto each other's geography...But your voice...

Your voice is haunting.

It demolishes walls, erases distance, carrying such a force...

It instantly tears off my clothes and ravages my whole body...

It's a kind of magic...magic...(I'm secretly smiling inside, because I can hear that song right now...)

Was I dreaming last night?

Did you really say those things to me?!

Did you really sense how your voice affected me?

I don't have a clue...

Now it's almost half past four, and I am stranded here, inside my mother's Psychiatric Counselling Office, blowing bits&pieces of my boredomness along the strands of time.

Thing is, I shouldn't be here, because I'm on holliday, and I should go out, or read, or do whatever comes to mind...But she yelled at me that I'm a social parasite and don't do anything for her help, blahblah&jabba jabba...

I almost  answered back, but I remembered in time to shut it.

Whilst I alone have not found the answers concerning myself.Meanwhile I sit quietly, pretending to be the perfect daughter, beautiffully shaped and formed, charmingly brilliant and utterly infected with sadness. 'Just smile and wave...'

I nodded and accepted my fate..Maybe someday, I will tell her what I really think of her job and her thesis on Life...

After all, she works wonders on others, but inside her own family there are rotting apples and crawling worms of decay.

Now it's well past sleeping for me, but I had this discussion at table which, once again, revived that dormant rebellion spirit inside. I was waiting for this. It's times like these when I can fully look inside me and clear things out. It's times like these when I must dissect myself, piece by piece, analyze each and every one, and then rearrange the puzzle. The restoration could be identical, or, could be better, depending on the flaws of pieces...It's like waiting for a storm to stir the waters...'Cause we all know you have to stir waters if you want to catch fish.

This is what I got from the stirring :


Things are cool for the moment, but I can spot heavy clouds of tempest in the future. My ideologies have nothing to do with all that preaching back home, and I could never go along with something I had the slightest dislike for. Now I despise these.

I must come up with a mastermind plan. And soon.

Funny how You also hold a key-role in this porridge of sickness; may I never had met you, maybe all this would never have taken place...





Are personal messages protected by copyright?

There's a cool thread going now regarding the above-captioned.

I got bitten by a similar issue here on E2. Now, I wasn't in any copyright violation, but it was the expectation of privacy that I was accused of violating.

I received a message via our /msg system that I thought was abusive. I then published that message in a daylog. I got fired as a CE. The reason cited was that the sender of the abusive /msg to me, although he did not request it in his /msg, expected that the contents of that message were confidential and only between us. My assumption was that if someone sends me something, particularly something I find inflammatory, it's mine to broadcast to the world, along with something from me saying "did y'all see what he/she said to me?!!"

You see, the /msg was from my then-boss at E2. The current person in charge supported my removal as an editor and failed to reinstate me after the hierarchy changed (he did, kindly, entertain a review of the decision to remove me). Now, for fear of committing the same kind of violation, I can't tell you what was in the /msg giving me the rationale for keeping me out of the editorial staff here.

/rant off.

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