Tuesday, July 22, 2003
I love my hobbies. Personal indulgences are a welcome outlet for various nasty things that accumulate in the system, they provide sweet refuge from the stresses of Real Life, and they convince me, for a while, that life is interesting and that I've got an independent existence. I must admit, I've got an almost pathological need for them.
Therefore, it saddens me whenever I lose any of them. Like today, for example. I used to treat Biology as an interest (apart from the mandatory exam mugging,
of course). Naturally there are things within the syllabus that any student has to know, but I took pleasure in reading up on my own. Now that Bio Olympiad training has taken that prerogative out of my hands, it seems that what had once been an interest has become something of a chore. On my way home, I started dry-retching thinking about the sheer volume of material to be memorised by end October this year. No matter what people may say, my memory's very, very far from photographic. No, in fact, it's bloody short-term. It's bad, bad, bad.
Went home with Sheila and talked more than I had for the entire schoolday. She doesn't mind me (at least, I *hope* so) when I relapse into uninhibited nasty-person mode-- the result of a fortuitous combination of familiarity and distance. Awkward repression is the rule most of the time, so a majority of my acquaintances consider me distant and about as approachable as an iceberg (twice as cold, too, I should think). Damn. I should really get to work on my interpersonal skills.
words were spilled on Tuesday, July 22, 2003
