kymarik

loads of religious discussion caused me to have a dream that god himself (itself?) was talking to me. he/it told me that unless i start believing, i am going to hell. it was kind of scary. according to the dream dictionary, To dream that God speaks to you, signifies feelings of guilt, eternal punishment, and damnation. i do have problems with guilt. i still hate work. i have to go in fourteen more times before easter break. then i get a whole ten days to myself. for a fleeting moment, i convinced myself to go to england, but my bank balance wouldn't even pay for a plane ticket, so that option has been abandoned. i've been trying to write this update for about an hour, so i'm giving up. all week, i was thinking of good things to write in here, but i've forgotten everything.

work is work, and i care less about it each day. i managed to read all of down and out in paris and london today, and it seemed sort of fitting. obviously, i'm nowhere near the state orwell was in at the time, but i empathised with the way he writes about his meaningless job in paris. he writes, to sum up, a plongeur is a slave, and a wasted slave, doing stupid and largely unnecessary work. that is exactly how i feel. i sit in classrooms mostly unnoticed by both the faculty and the students. i ignore people more and more with each passing day and am no longer bothered by whatever amount of noise my students create. sometimes i get scolded by my so-called superiors*, but really, that just makes me laugh. at the same time, i can only laugh about it for so long. my apathy comes and goes and is often replaced by severe rage or depression. and sometimes, though this is extremely rare, even joy.i spoke to brian yesterday, which was nice. he encouraged me to do what is good for me, so i think i will finish up the school year with this job, then promptly quit so that i can finish my degree and get on with my life. when i read some of the things i have written, i know that staying at this job longer will cause me to become either suicidal or homicidal, or both. for instance, last week, i wrote,...but for the seven hours that i sit enduring what is surely the slowest form of unforgiving torture, my violence is stifled, muzzled, unfulfilled and incomplete. i am an angry pacifist pretending to care and trying harder by the day to mask my vitriol as dedication and diligence. i dream of ak-47s. i dream in black and white and red. i dream only in red. i have become so hateful, and the sheer annoyance of my experience is culled only by disheartening and dulling depression....that's sort of a tragic and hyperbolic representation of my current life situation, but it was how i felt at the time and how i will likely feel tomorrow or the next day or the next day. but i am optimistic that things will get better.*the police - synchronicity II (and every single meeting with his so-called superiors is a humiliating kick in the crotch!)

serious antiquities exist in me. i am walking, disoriented, down dublin streets, watching welsh people in red rugby shirts. i am lost i am lost i am so so lost.nothing happened that i expected. i have been rained on, and i regret to admit that i sort of enjoyed it. i finally realised that my north star is below me these days. i want to write more, but i simply cannot continue to be this wasteful. euros are not free, she said.