Friday, January 25, 2008

Her

I'm having a hard time finishing my thesis. I can't concentrate. I can't get my thoughts together. I just want to lounge around, daydream, writing down wishful lists. I'd rather clean house, cook, and imagine how my life would be 4 months from now.

I really can't help it. It's as if part of me has moved on and living in a parallel universe, going about and doing the things she (in essense, I) want to do. That part of me isn't bothered that thesis pre-deliberations is a month away and I haven't done anything concrete towards finishing the project. She isn't bothered with the fact that I still need to get involved with the senseless thesis exhibit that some people in the batch are dreaming to put up in a mall/posh event space/or whatever. She isn't bothered that I can't get myself to work and even write down a well-constructed paragraph.

I like her. Happy, careless, dreamy me.
I want to be her. But I know I have to work my ass off to finally be that person I want to be.