Bah

I promise to blog about Wednesday's amusing date with Fool soon. Am not supposed to be here because I'm supposed to be reading my Human Psychophysiology and Cognition readings but after reading one of Mervert's blog posts, I was very much inspired to write about myself.

I, too, am unable to find an adjective to describe myself. I'm also boring and unable to hype people up, do not know what to say to people who are not in the best of moods and therefore incapable at offering comfort or at least cheering them up, do not have any special talents, unless you count talking crap as one (and even then, I'm not exactly very good at this), not outwardly attractive to the extent that guys fall head over heels in love with me, a downright pessimist (which is of no use in almost all situations that are earthly possible), obscenely anti-social (trust me on this), prefers to stay at home most of the time, do not know what I want/like/need (that's terrible. This also means I do not know myself), painfully shy, would like positive attention but shies away when I get it (which illustrates the previous point), do not dare to speak out or to get what I want (if I even know what I want), fades into the background most of the time, cannot speak well, Jack of all trades but a master of none (then again, I don't know how to do a lot of things actually), unable to take criticism (I've probably got a lot of white lies thrown to my face)...and the list goes on.

There, that's me. I'm sure you all hate me by now since you know what I am like.

Out of irrelavence, I didn't exactly want to say this here but I've got the drive to do so now.

One day, you'll regret all that you have taught me.

I feel better now. Read: I've a feeling that I'll regret it all my life if I go on.

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Sorry to all who have planned to celebrate my birthday or are giving my nice presents, etc...but I'm not looking forward to my birthday because I don't want to turn 22. Was making a rash decision to kill myself yesterday while alone on the streets of Orchard so that I can die as a 21-year-old, but decided not to in the end as my brain told me that was plain silly.

That's not the only reason. But it's all too complicated to explain. And, worse still, I'm getting depression that, in Shelley's words, has no cause or a name. Don't say that it's not depression just because I know I have it (makes sense to Psych students only, probably).

I KNOW I'M SAD. GO AWAY, FRIDAY.