I just thought of "success". What it entitles. Having "done something", accomplished something, merits, CV and so on. Since my sisters so conveniently are blocking my access to the playstation and thus my eternal bliss in FFX has become temporarily twarted, i find myself in front of the internetz. I am making a decision today. Goodbye Bilddagboken. I never really liked you anyway. BUT, back to success. Leafing through a glossy magazine, shock-full with rising teen stars and 16-year-old fashion moguls/dj-ing stars/it-club-girls, I couldn't help feeling like a piece of shit. What have I accomplished compared to them? Not-a-thing. While they were busy building an empire, there I sat moping in my corner, an excessive display of teen angst. Yes, I know, one shouldn't compare oneself with others blablabla, but the truth is, we do it even if we're not conscious of it. A constant comparison, a constant battle, which either makes us feel good (if we find ourselves better, sexier, whatever) or worse (if we're not as good as the subject of comparison). Anyway, that kinda obsessive behaviour sucks. We suck. Papaya Coconut. YES. Also, success equals a really busy social life. It does, I swear, in our mitigated brains. Thus, being at home on a friday night, of course one cannot log on to msn because PLAGUE! then other failures would see you online and see that you're a failure too. I am sure this is not a feeling only I am harbouring. I am sure. The fakeness to fit in. Wanting to be different but still keeping up that facade. Because it's much cooler to read or watch a movie with your peers than be online a friday night. Oh mah gahd, gahd forbid. Spit, spat, spun sugar. Hello. Also, today I decided my blog posts don't have to be shit ass long like they usually are, and I also decided I don't HAVE TO sound intelligent in them like I usually try to do. I know I am intelligent, I know I am fine being at home a friday night. I know I'm not a failure. My knowlegde is worth more to me than any fad bee-hive fucking mind.
So, this coming year, it's gonna be all about easing in to myself, feeling at home in my own skin and not be so fucking anxious about what the rest of you fuckers out there are doing because CAREFACE - I couldn't really care less. It's gonna be me, my peculiar mind, my books, my musings, my music, my odd sense of off-fashion, and trying to find a different path to success than the one everyone else is yearning for. Fuck stardom you fuckers.
Now now, attack isn't the best defence, but can you blame anyone who is constantly uncomfortable with herself? Didn't think so.
