What’s there to say.
It got summed up quite nicely yesterday.
“Fked up royally.”
I can look back on all the blog posts I did if i really needed proof for that.
But I don’t, because it happens often enough to remind me anyway.
I can always see it coming because it’s me.
It’s hardly a surprise these days.
If at the least I could say I don’t make the same mistake twice, then I’d be fine even if I made new mistakes.
Hey, I’m willing to bet I’d be out of most of the mistakes to make. At least the probable ones. I’ll give myself the benefit of the doubt that I’m not borderline retarded.
But sadly, I can’t.
Not the borderline retarded thing, cause then…..well…….actually then I’d have an excuse.
But no, I can’t say that I don’t make the same mistake twice.
Can I even call it a mistake.
At this point I can’t even tell.
…..It’s like I’m not even trying.
And that’s what it is.
Why don’t I.
I don’t know.
When was the last time I told myself I’d actually fucking do something?
And when did I actually do something?
Story of my life.
Always the work half done.
I can’t even keep track of everything I’ve only half done.
Let’s see what I can list off from the top of my head.
Visual novel from 2 years ago. The one with Alyysia or something. Something something heart condition.
Visual novel from 4 years ago. Something something never finished anyway, barely started.
RPG from 2 years ago. Barely finished, rushed it.
RPG currently. Aka 2 years ago. Incomplete. But ill admit, if i ever finish it, it’s gonna be pretty badass. 10% done.
Visual novel currently. WIP, if it even qualifies as in progress. aka Not going to be done for a while unless I get some epiphany.
Block of wood. Supposed to be a handle. It’s a block of wood.
Assassins creed hidden blade made out of popsicle sticks. It’s a pile of popsicle sticks. And a bit of glue.
Design of marble counter, floor plan. The border’s done. Been done for a month and a half.
University. College. Whatever it is.
All around me people are talking about their courses and plans for the future. Classes. Majors. Degrees. Schedules.
I’m too ashamed to even say anything.
I don’t have a plan for my future.
What can I say?
Grade 3. I started writing the shittiest compositions of my life. What a great start to a failure of a school career. First time I played a computer game. Sim city. Fuck you sim city.
Why didn’t I fucking do well in grade 4. HOW DID I EVEN MANAGE TO DO POORLY? ITS FKING GRADE 4 AM I ACTUALLY RETARDED?
Why didn’t I fucking do well in grade 5?
Why didn’t I fucking do well in grade 6?
……Grade 7. I don’t have any words for it.
How did I even get into middle years?
Grade 8. Failure of a student who just never did shit.
Grade 9. Rinse and repeat.
Grade 10. Actually, not that bad of a year. I honor rolled for the first time. The first time.
Actually disappointed IB didnt accept me with 6 A’s, but who’s to blame anyway. I wouldnt take in a failure if I saw a pattern.
Grade 11. Eh, not that bad either……? No chem was bad at the end.
Grade 12. The one year that decided my life. I won’t say anything about it.
There’s nothing to say.
It’s a page filled with scrawls and ragged lines. Drawn upon and then some.
A useless sheet of paper.
And now when I look back at the joke of my life, I can’t even see past the blurs.
I haven’t ever done something and told myself that I was sincerely proud of who I was.
Maybe proud of something that I had done at the moment.
But my life?
It’s just like the unfinished visual novel.
Sure. There’s a good intro to it.
But that’s all it is.
How do you rate something incomplete?
With a zero.
It doesn’t matter that it looks kinda nice.
It doesn’t matter that it works well until you get to where it leaves off.
It doesn’t matter that the content is brilliant.
It doesn’t get anything.
It doesn’t deserve anything.
Hey, I’m a decent guy.
I don’t go out of my way to do anything that will make you dislike me.
I’m usually friendly, and if I’m tired you’ll still get a hi.
I’m mostly sociable. I can probably strike up a conversation.
But probably make a fool of myself at the same time. LOL. I’m bad at jokes.
And if I may, I don’t think I’m ugly.
I’ve often wondered. How different would I be if I had a degree to my name.
This world barely cares about who you are as a person.
They’re just accessories.
Nice things that if you’re lucky, you get.
The icing on the cake.
But no, if you can slap your degree on the table, you’re in.
I’ve set myself up to be nothing.
And that’s all I am.