Pointless
Day I-don't-even-care-anymore.
I'm not sure if this even holds true for a lot of people but I'm gonna say it anyway.
There comes a point in one's life when everything starts to not make sense. For example, in the event of a zombie infection or whatever (I avoided using the term "apocalypse" because as it turns out, "apocalypse" doesn't mean "end of the world"). I don't understand why people from The Walking Dead just keeps fighting and when I say fighting, killing for living. I mean, I guess that's how the world's gonna turn out eventually when everyone starts eating everyone but still. Why not just give up hope and donate a healthy arm to a hungry walker? It's not like there's a place left for them to go right? If everyone is infected, then eventually the world's gonna go to shit even though I don't see how it can get any shittier than it already is. As I've said, nothing makes sense anymore in this scenario at least. On the other hand, I believe that it doesn't have to go down that road for us to realize that there is such a point in life. In a way, we're all facing "the end of the world" on a daily basis and somehow, we manage to survive it. I guess that's what's amazing about being human - we never give up hope in the face of adversity. We fight for as long as it takes. Somehow, we're all starring in a big production of the reality show version of The Walking Dead. We just don't have a good enough excuse to shoot some motherfuckers in the head, those metaphorical zombies who feed off what others worked hard for and expect to walk with it like it's some bullshit course of nature.
Okay. Now I'm officially hating on the world for nothing. Big talk from someone who writes love stories for fame and hopefully in the near future, fortune.
Speaking of love stories, I just finished another one last week. It's not really that much but I think some people wasted time reading it and I got some good feedback. That is from my closest friends who are kind of obligated to read what I write. I don't feel bad about it really and I'm not exactly that excited to be critiqued by some big shot writer or editor either. I'm just not sure if I can take some "constructive" criticism because I've never been given one. People always said I'm awesome at writing and my Humanities professors all throughout college thought so too that they awarded me with some bigass medal on graduation day. My mom's not really psyched about it since it didn't have anything to do with what I actually studied but whatever. I can say I really didn't care much that time. My mom's never been proud of my writing prowess anyway so there you have it.
As for being world's greatest daughter, I can say there's not much as usual. I'm still the lazy, eldest kid who works at a call center and didn't consider trying to lose weight until her doctor found something immaculately disturbing in her liver. It's not really that alarming when you get to understand it but the numbers in that lab test results thing is so fucking scary I had to file a leave of absence. And yeah, I've been out of work for two weeks and as usual, broke to my bones. But looking at the bright side, I'd be returning to work later with a medical certificate that's gonna tell everyone I'm fine. I feel fine by the way and I believe that's partly because of the workouts I've been doing and the diet restrictions. I slip every now and then but I always get back and think of all the reasons why I want to stay alive in the first place. One of those is living to the day when I get to shoot zombies in the head with a hot zombie "end of the world" partner. I sincerely pray it'd be Norman Reedus.
I gotta go to work later so I'm gonna try to sleep now.
Five more days to my 23rd.
I'm not sure if this even holds true for a lot of people but I'm gonna say it anyway.
There comes a point in one's life when everything starts to not make sense. For example, in the event of a zombie infection or whatever (I avoided using the term "apocalypse" because as it turns out, "apocalypse" doesn't mean "end of the world"). I don't understand why people from The Walking Dead just keeps fighting and when I say fighting, killing for living. I mean, I guess that's how the world's gonna turn out eventually when everyone starts eating everyone but still. Why not just give up hope and donate a healthy arm to a hungry walker? It's not like there's a place left for them to go right? If everyone is infected, then eventually the world's gonna go to shit even though I don't see how it can get any shittier than it already is. As I've said, nothing makes sense anymore in this scenario at least. On the other hand, I believe that it doesn't have to go down that road for us to realize that there is such a point in life. In a way, we're all facing "the end of the world" on a daily basis and somehow, we manage to survive it. I guess that's what's amazing about being human - we never give up hope in the face of adversity. We fight for as long as it takes. Somehow, we're all starring in a big production of the reality show version of The Walking Dead. We just don't have a good enough excuse to shoot some motherfuckers in the head, those metaphorical zombies who feed off what others worked hard for and expect to walk with it like it's some bullshit course of nature.
Okay. Now I'm officially hating on the world for nothing. Big talk from someone who writes love stories for fame and hopefully in the near future, fortune.
Speaking of love stories, I just finished another one last week. It's not really that much but I think some people wasted time reading it and I got some good feedback. That is from my closest friends who are kind of obligated to read what I write. I don't feel bad about it really and I'm not exactly that excited to be critiqued by some big shot writer or editor either. I'm just not sure if I can take some "constructive" criticism because I've never been given one. People always said I'm awesome at writing and my Humanities professors all throughout college thought so too that they awarded me with some bigass medal on graduation day. My mom's not really psyched about it since it didn't have anything to do with what I actually studied but whatever. I can say I really didn't care much that time. My mom's never been proud of my writing prowess anyway so there you have it.
As for being world's greatest daughter, I can say there's not much as usual. I'm still the lazy, eldest kid who works at a call center and didn't consider trying to lose weight until her doctor found something immaculately disturbing in her liver. It's not really that alarming when you get to understand it but the numbers in that lab test results thing is so fucking scary I had to file a leave of absence. And yeah, I've been out of work for two weeks and as usual, broke to my bones. But looking at the bright side, I'd be returning to work later with a medical certificate that's gonna tell everyone I'm fine. I feel fine by the way and I believe that's partly because of the workouts I've been doing and the diet restrictions. I slip every now and then but I always get back and think of all the reasons why I want to stay alive in the first place. One of those is living to the day when I get to shoot zombies in the head with a hot zombie "end of the world" partner. I sincerely pray it'd be Norman Reedus.
I gotta go to work later so I'm gonna try to sleep now.
Five more days to my 23rd.
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