I applied to a bunch of potential schools and english centres in China today. Most were in and around Beijing, but there were two in Shanghai, one in Guangdong province, and another in Nanjing.
I get restless on weekends and watch too much TV. I broke up my time by re-reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, as pictured here. It took me about two and a half hours to get through the whole thing. I hadn't read it since high school, so it was refreshing and I think I just actually got it this time around. It's funny, once you've gone through some of the things that Charlie goes through in the story, or you've experienced some of his feelings, you relate in an entirely different way. You can see yourself again, back at that "low point", that part of your life that everybody shies away from. And the whole time these thoughts beat against your skull likes moths in a lantern, and what hurts the most is that nobody will even try to come down to your level and relate. Maybe that's why I secured my first real best friend - she was on the same pills, she could joke about those truly difficult, painful nights, she could actually get what I was saying and counteract with her own experiences. Reading Charlie's letters make me feel a little like that again; like I'm not alone when I sink myself into those memories, and that somebody else felt the crippling exhaustion of it all, and most of all the numbness that comes with it, shutting down your mind and your body until all you can do is sit and stare and walk around like a zombie, minus the whole eating people thing. I've come a long ways since week-long bedroom vigils.
I hate to sound like some teenager off myspace who listens to FFTL and writes bulletins about how much they hate their parents. I love my parents, I really do, and I think my life is both beautiful and absurd. It's just these Sundays where you feel like a Smiths song and your brain aches from a painful story but in the end, you're content.
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