I think I might be back... and it most likely isn't a good thing. Not for me, not for my physical health, not for my life. But then again, if those were in a state that would make it possible for them to get affected by my writing, I wouldn't be writing in the first place. And yes, this nonsense makes perfect sense to me.
       The city I live in now is lovely. Full of ancient buildings that make it gorgeous. Parks everywhere, and where there's a park, there's usually also one of those amazing coffee stands/trolleys with amazingly looking and smelling coffee to go. Even myself, tea drinker to the bone, I have hard time resisting it. I love my school - there's nothing to complain about (except maybe this one professor who bores everyone to death, but you can't have everything, right?). The building is perfectly nice, modern, yet not disturbing the quiet atmosphere of an old neighborhood. I fell in love with the library - who wouldn't have? All the rooms are perfectly equipped, all furniture nice, new, modern and comfortable, really, really nice bathrooms... Having come from my old school with ancient windows you could feel the wind blowing through and bathrooms that I would rather avoid describing... I think you've got the picture.
         I hate this place. I hate being here, every second of it. Sometimes, I don't. But at this very moment, I hate it with all my heart. I'm alone, lonely, missing all those I love. So I just sit here, in my beautiful tiny room, while my roommate is off with her friends, then heading to her boyfriend's (who lives nearby) to spend the whole weekend there... and I envy her so much, not in the evil way, but still, she's so lucky to have those she loves nearby... I'm lonely, looking at a never-ending sheet of 0's and 1's (sad thing is, I'm being perfectly serious, I have been adding, converting and analyzing those stupid numbers over and over again over the last few days...)
        I'm not into making friends - don't know how to do that, how do you people do it? I don't know anyone here. I think I might be becoming once again the person I used to be - the loner, hater of everyone, who's life's mostly here, writing what her soul feels. Or maybe that's just my autumn personality - the autumn me who only wishes to listen to rain, sad music, be surrounded by candles, pretty things, fluffy things, warm socks, scarfs, blankets and drinking hot beverages... (mňaaam, také kakauko teraz... mmmmm....)
        I just can't imagine my life going on like this for the following years. I hate this life, not just mine, but the way no one's got time anymore. My best friend can't see me, because she's got so much work to do. My boyfriend has to work extra hard the for days to make up for the time he spent going for a coffee with me. I hate that there's hardly anything to look for sooner than summer holiday. The stereotype and loneliness is going to kill me (and make me fat)...
        Given that there's absolutely nothing to do in this stupid city for me, you might expect to hear from me soon.
Lot's of love
         

         Život je proste sviňa. Dá sa ho žiť alebo sa dá o ňom písať, no oboje akosi nejde. Lebo aj čas je sviňa. Keď nie je čo robiť, keď človek sedí hodiny vo vlaku, naťahuje sa ako ružová detská Orbit žuvačka. No keď chcete čosi naozaj robiť, keď chcete aby chvíľa trvala večne, jedno žmurknutie a za oknom sa začína stmievať. A niekedy zrazu pochopíte, že ho nie je nazvyš. Čakám a čakám, nech už je zajtra, lebo uvdím svoje lásky, nech už je streda, lebo si pôjdeme zahrať Doom 4, nech už je piatok, lebo... a možno žiaden piatok ani nebude. Keď vám niekto doslova zomrie pred očami, čas plynie trochu inak...
         Ale nie to som chcela. Be yourself, be yourself, no matter what, just be yourself... stále a znova a dookola. Som sama sebou? A ako viem, kto to je? Ako môžem byť sebou, človekom, ktorý miluje písať, ak nič nepíšem? Cítim sa tak neplnohodnotne, keď zrazu neviem ako... kedysi to šlo ako dýchanie, samé a neprestajne, bola to moja droga, únik z reality... ani sa teraz nečudujem, že som tak veľmi túžila utekať preč, vlastne to boli otrasné roky... všetkých ľudí z tých čias som už dávno dostala zo svojho života, no aj tak je zvláštny pocit uvedomiť si, že prvých priateľov som mala vo svojom živote tak v šestnástich rokoch... predtým bol toto únik, domov... teraz, po prvýkrát, sa cítim doma vo svojom skutočnom živote, teším sa nasledujúce dni, nie na to, kedy skončia. Očakávam východy slnka, nie jeho západy. Naozaj, naozaj som šťastná. Mám okolo seba ľudí, ktorým na mne záleží. Nevedela som si predstaviť, aký to môže byť dobrý pocit...
         Tak veľmi mi však chýba ten pocit, ktorý som mala tu, keď toto bol domov... a cítim sa ako veľké sklamanie - pre seba. Že to viac nedokážem, to čím som sa tak pýšila, čo bolo pre mňa všetkým, ako je možné, že som to úplne zabudla? Moje písanie je kostrbaté, neotesané a tak neprirodzené... stratila som s ním časť seba, niečo, čo viac neviem nájsť... som to potom vôbec ešte ja?

The person running this blog is dead. This blog is dead.


Let' face it. I'm not her anymore, she's not me and all of this is just pathetic.
Bye. Rest in peace. Or whatever.

I might miss her(me), but that's not bringing her back.

Eyes of Queen