I'm posting here again. It's 2am on June 5th 2005. Well, you probably guessed that from the 'post-date' listed on this entry. Everybody's gone to a house party. Why am I not, you may ask? because I still have exams to do. They're all celebrating (including my girlfriend, I might add) and I'm miserable. I have nothing to celebrate about. All everybody has been doing today is going on about how great a time they're going to have tonight, and probably are. For somebody who is essentially abstaining from alcohol until his exams are done (ON F*CKING THURSDAY) and whose fun level is somewhere down in the triple-figure minus area, this is not what you want to hear. I've been getting sympathy, but I wish I wasn't here. If there's anything worse than people going on about a fantastic time theyr'e having, its being pitied for the same reason. I appreciate the sentiment, I really do and they are saying it out of the goodness of their hearts – its wonderful being remembered, it truly is. Yet it simply serves to emphasize just how utterly shafted you really are. It certainly did that to me. I have been in a depressed fury (ooh, oxymoron) this evening because of the knowledge everyone i know is getting drunk and having fun – but I'm not.
'Oh, you will eventually' I hear you say. Yet the immediacy of my situation is what annoys me at the moment. I am currently the least sociable man on the planet, and a single comment about how great their house party was will push me into 'throw object at wall' mode. Immature, maybe. But it is how I feel. I've never been good at controlling my temper you see. Everything gets to me eventually. It bottles up and can come out at the worst times – I have broken a good number of kitchen implements out of sheer frustration. I would never hit somebody of course in this particularly fevered mode. It doesn't win you friends, and you don't have to hurt anybody and live with the consequences. Yet a broken spoon is hardly likely to incur the wrath of the gods.
I've been trying to de-annoy myself since I stopped revising. Playing a deeply violent game only managed to partly curb my anger, and Crazy Taxi 3 simply succeeded in me writing a deeply cynical review to PC Gamer. I need some sort of punchbag in my room, methinks.
Maybe this blog entry will help. Maybe it won't. Doesn't matter anyhow. sighs Ah well. To bed I go, I guess.