I'm just feeling progressively more and more fed up and frustrated, with life in general.
I'm sick of it. All of it. Just sick of...life these days.
I'm jittery and stressed to the gills, and have essays and presentations and work to do, and I have to keep the smile on my face all the time. I'm just so sick of it all.

There's enough medication in this house that I could overdose. Purposely. It's getting to that.
I just want to scream and sleep and cry and sleep and sigh and sleep and finish whatever needs to be finished because that's how I feel -- like I need to finish a million things and none of them are even close to being done and I'm drowning. Again. And I'm so lonely.
I'm just sick of it all.

This is really important.

Seriously.

I'm heading home for reading week tomorrow at 8am with my dad.
First we're heading to Toronto, though, so he can get some needles poked in him to help his back (acupuncture) and then home. 5 hours of driving? Sure, but then home.
Man, I need this.

Gonk.

Hurrah! Handed in!

Goodnight.

blink blink

Oh my good gravy, I'm tired.
Good thing this class is only an hour long, then I'm back here for sleeeeeeeeeeeeep.
I just keep blinking and blinking. I'm like a...sleepy fish or something. D:

END OF THE PARTY! D:<

Gaaaah. I want to finish this thing, but I can't yet. Guuuaaaauuuh...
Oh great, just when I thought I'd just about finished it, it turns out that within the circle willing to take down Hitler, dissension rose. Brill.
You know what? Screw this. I'm ending this party.
...he had used ever possible avenue of influence to sway Germany to his side...blah blah blah...it was his control over every aspect of German life which had led to the grumblings of the German people...blah blah blah...the abandonment of him by his officers....THE END! D:<

So, I'm about 2/3's of the way done this thing.
And I'm sort of sad. See, my mom phoned Monday, and I spoke to my dad, and he said that maybe he should come down this weekend. I laughed and the like. It was because my mom told him about how I didn't eat anything on Sunday. Heh heh.
So, I phoned again tonight, on my self-proclaimed break, and asked my mom if he was serious. Aaand, no. He wasn't.
Hence why I'm sort of sad.
I'm lonely here.

Oh well, next week I'm being picked up to spend the week at home for reading week. :3
Which means I get to go to the dentist so I can ask him why my jaw cracks and snaps loud enough for my friend beside me to hear it during Korean History class. Guuuh.
I'm sort of positive that it's lending to my headaches.
Yay.

Oh well, one more week, one more week.


BACK TO MY ESSAY!


PS. I'm also posting again so I can get the Queen post off the page, since it seems to be still messing up the layout of my blog. :/
I'm just clever like that. D:

Essay time! D:

Hm...apparently my last post screwed up the layout of my blog. Interesting. Oh well, it will right itself eventually, I'm sure.
In other news, I have a German history paper due tomorrow. Anyone want to write it for me? It's about Hiiitlerrr. Sounds like fuuuuunnnn. Come ooonnn. I swear, it'll be fun. Come on. Please? Maybe? Maybe not? Awwwww. Pleeease? No? Oh well, I better get to work then. :/

Find me somebody to love...

I was downloading the key word lists on Sunday for my Korean history class when I noticed one of them was titled "Under Pressure:The Opening of Korea and Foreign Pressures in the 1870’s and 1880’s" and that led me to a downloading spree of Queen songs.
I used to listen to Queen when I was really young. I think my favourite song when I was five was "I Wanna Ride my Bicycle," and "Crazy Little Thing Called Love." I can distinctly remember sitting in the back seat of our old old car, leaning forward between the front seats where dad was driving and my older sister sat. I remember listening to Queen on a tape on our way to Sudbury. I don't remember why we were going. I mean, we go every year on boxing day, but why was it just me and my sister and dad...? Well, my little sister would have either been just born or at least 1...so that would make sense. The 6-ish hour car ride wouldn't have been a good idea.

I also remember my uncle.

He was the middle of three. Like me.
His looks remind me of that of Freddy Mercury (I think it's the mustache).
I can't remember much of him, but what I do remember is only happiness.
I can remember that he used to chase my older sister and I around my grandparent's house, pretending he was a monster. When he finally caught us, he'd lift us up, flip us around so that we were sitting on his shoulder, he'd then flip us over again and pretend to bite our bums. Then he'd tickle us and we'd laugh and laugh and laugh!

I don't remember when he got sick.
My dad told me last year that he moved to Toronto. He got sick there. They knew he was sick, but no one talked about it. He moved back home when it got really bad. He remembers seeing my grandfather giving my uncle a bath because he was too weak to do it himself.
My dad told me that he remembers the day he got the call. He was in a meeting, but he just left the meeting room without a word. The rest of us drove up soon after.
All we (my sisters and I) were ever told was that he "was very very sick and the doctors couldn't do anything to help him."
I suppose it wouldn't have meant anything to a one, six, and eight year old if you were to tell them that their uncle had died of AIDS. I only learned about 5 years ago.

My dad told me last year that, although the family was accepting of his homosexuality, whenever they spoke of my uncle (if ever), they avoided the cause of his death. I'm not sure why. I suppose it's because I grew up in a drastically different society than them. It's understandable, I suppose.

But I'm so proud of him, and I miss him terribly whenever I hear Freddy Mercury crooning away.
My older sister has seen his name on the AIDS memorial in Toronto.
My uncle was the first Emperor of the Gay and Lesbian community in Toronto, there's a scholarship in his name at the UofT, and every time I remember that, I'm filled with the warmth of the utmost pride in him.

I was reading information about the scholarship and my dad is listed as an honorary winner of the award, and I broke down in tears.

I'm so sad that I didn't get to know him better. I'm so sad that he didn't get to know me. I'm so sad that I'll never know what it would be like to have him as an uncle now. And yet, I'm so happy that he's at peace. I can only imagine the pain he felt, the pain my father still feels when he thinks of him.
When my dad told me about him, we were sitting in Tim Hortons and he almost started to cry. My dad...he's not a crier. He's such a strong, stubborn man.

I just wish, wish I could have known him. Known him as more than the uncle-monster who chased me around the house, biting my bum and tickling me until I couldn't breath.

Can you love a relative you barely knew? I think so.
I'm terrified that I'm disappointing him.