Tag Archives: tired

Stuck Again

You had every intention to be productive. In fact, you went out of your way to avoid your room and head to a place where the chance for productivity would be much higher than only two feet away from your bed.

You open your computer, you make some calls, and then you come to a point where your brain is just… done.

You’re stuck.

You read pointless stories.

You check and recheck facebook.

You can feel your mind taking on the consistency of a ball of silly putty resting against your forehead.

Something inside you starts yelling at you, telling you to be productive.

And do what? you ask it. But you get no reply.

So you think about ways to be productive.

Only to find that you haven’t checked your facebook in the last ten minutes, and should probably check it again.

And your email too.

When you next look at the clock, it’s two hours past when you first sat down.

And you’ve gotten nothing done. Again.

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Tired Already?

It’s strange, but I think I’m done with this now. This… school thing. Maybe it’s the effects of coming back from a magnificent spring break (the details of which I’ve been meaning to write down… I shall do so eventually, I hope), but all in all, it’s disconcerting just how much I don’t want to be here anymore.

I’m used to not having any initiative to do my work. That takes time, but it’s not impossible to overcome. I’m used to hitting a wall. Again, difficult, yet I’ve done it before and I can do it again. But this, this is new. It’s not that I don’t have initiative, it’s just that my heart is pulling me elsewhere. I don’t want to be by myself in lab doing research, I don’t want to be by myself doing psets, I don’t want to be by myself… at all.

I want to write. To disappear into my own little world which, honestly, looks so much better than this one, if only because it’s almost real. I want to keep writing and re-writing, and sharing with my friends and reading and thinking and learning to write. I want to sing. I want to run, I want to shout, I want to laugh. I want to love.

Now that I think about it, I was doing all that and more just last week.

So now I see it – I just miss it. I physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally, miss New Orleans.

 

But what can I do about it?

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A Scary Thought

“There must be something wrong with me.”

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The Choice That Reeks Suspiciously of Failure

I didn’t do what MIT students are supposed to do. At 3AM this morning, when I saw that, despite all of my foresight and planning and scheduling, I was unable to finish my assignment by 9AM this morning, simply because I didn’t understand what was going on. Instead of looking things up and searching for the answers in my notes and my textbooks and being a “real MIT student” who says, “I don’t need sleep. I need an A,” I said to myself, “I can’t do this. I need sleep.” And I’m very much afraid that I’m going to look back on this missed assignment and cry my eyes out.

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God is… Patient

I can’t remember the last time I threw a temper tantrum with God.

No no, I remember the last time I got upset with God. But I cannot remember the last time I actually stomped around, doing what He has told me to do without an ounce of happiness or joy. As if I was saying, “Fine, I’ll obey. But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

The best part about it is that I could feel God with me the entire time. He never left me to my own devices, neither did He get impatient with my inability to obey with a smile and a nod. I’m sure that will come with time, but until then, He is patient with me.¬† Continue reading

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When the unthinkable happens: there’s a post for that

This post, that is. And I’d like to apologize in advance for any unfortunates who come across this post, as it was written right after the unveiling of a test score that I had been waiting for ever so religiously. The reason why I’m mad, dear unfortunate reader, is because I can’t possibly understand how, or why, this happened.

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J’ai sommeil

J’ai fait trop, mais pas assez. Il n’y a pas assez de temps pour fair tout. Pas pour moi, pas pour toi, pas pour personne. Sauf les autres. Les autres qui n’ont pas des humaines. Ils ont vendu leurs ames au Diable pour avoir plus d’heures. Pour avoir l’abilite de fair tout ce qui doit etre faire. Mais j’aime mon ame – je ne veux pas le fair. A moins, pas maintenant. Plus tard, je ne sais pas. Quand j’arrive la, je vais savoir. Je vais savoir si mon ame est plus cher que mon temps ou non.

C’est trop tard pour cela.

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