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you have no idea how much you've done for me through this one decision. and I have no idea whether to apologize or to thank. you're the most unbelievable person I've ever met.

fate is twisty. I'm breathing again.

when the hell did I become nineteen years old? deep inside I'm still like... five. fourteen maximum. pretty far from mature. quite much scared of living an adult life.

still unable to fight off my laziness and irresponsibility. perfectionism & procrastination unfortunately don't rule each other out.

I passed my English exam today. hopefully I can find enough motivation to prepare the presentation for the native till Thursday or it will all go for nothing. yeah. not that I've actually learned for any of the seven that are past me and it's still six to go, but that's my soft spot - I've put this off so many times that I'm left with practically no time.

nothing new, congrats on the title, smarty pants.


PS: new Wombats on. better than ever, I'd say.

I'm starting to feel satisfied with my profile here.
That's pretty much all for now, yeah.

I just did something I shouldn't have done. And the memories have come back with double, if not triple force, fled me and knocked me off my feet. D'you know the odd feeling somewhere around your stomach, that keeps you uncomfortable? Well, that's my way of experiencing Gewissensbisse, pricks of conscience, simple remorse.

If shame had a face I think it would kinda look like mine... If it had a home would it be my eyes.

I'm gonna start re-thinking it all over again. Miss the good old times. I'm gonna repeatedly devastate myself, cause there's no other conclusion. I've messed up. No excuses, no explanations. No second chances.

...over and over, and over again...
...well here we go now, one more time...

I didn't want it. It was the only irrational thing in my well-organized life. But I loved it. So much I almost completely stopped calculating. Acted without thinking, this one time. And I got so involved, that I couldn't stop.

I tried to see how low I can get down to the ground.

The end was a sudden impact. I broke down. Nobody noticed. Spent at least half a year down in the deepest dumps. Tried to recover, then. Managed to get myself together enough to carry on. And then the second blow came.

I guess I kinda thought it would be easier than this.
I guess I was wrong.

Why here? Cause I actually have no one to talk to about things that really bother me, since I fucked up. No one reads this anyway, and I need to get it off my chest.

I never thought I'd end up here. Never thought, I'd be standing where I am.

Can't wrench myself free. I'm unable to try to start anew. The fear of failure, of getting wounded once more is too strong for me to act. I think instead. On and on.

Keep spinning around, I know that it won't stop.
Till I step down from this for good.


When you find me in the morning
hanging on the warning...

The joke is on you.

My heart still beats faster at the sight of it. Like the shot, in both meanings of the word. ;)



6th May 2009, Stamford Bridge, London.
Champions League Semifinal. Chelsea FC 1, FC Barcelona 1. 93rd minute on the clock. The scoring one is 'San' Andrés Iniesta. It's the little yellow-clothed fellow in the bottom left corner.
And I shout myself hoarse.