28.10.2000

Lazy.
leeee-iiiii--zzzz---iiiiii!

highten the pitch accordingly. make the /z/ voiceless and the /i/ lax.

"The moon, too, abuses her subjects,
but in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailbox with loving regularity"

I can recite Sylvia Plath by heart. Does that make you proud of me?=#&$@%"!!?

"You're strange."
"You talk strangely."
My father claims I speak no dialect.
I have no intonation specific to any area. My vocabulary, mostly, is of eastern and southern Finland. But my intonation is a mix of northern, eastern, southern, and soon western way of speaking. I've lived everywhere. And I've lived nowhere.

I have thirty-six hours to write twothousandfivehundred words about the relatioship between fiction and reality. What is fiction, what is reality?
My life's fiction, if you ask me. I dream. I lie on my bed and I dream because there's nothing else to do. Nothing else matters. At least dreaming makes me happy for a while.

How do I write about the relatioship between fiction and reality when I don't know what reality is?

I want to ask her. And I want to make her answer my question. She's the teacher, she should know. But of course she wouldn't know what to answer. She's mumble, and then claim that it isn't at all relevant. How can these people live thinking that the only relevant thing is narratology? Are they insane? What on earth does it matter?£&$=#|/?
Nothing's relevant. They're not relevant. Their studies aren't. They dig up facts about pronunciation, and narrative styles, and then they teach them to us. And then we know. And What Do We Do With That Knowledge?

IKYABWAI? HTH HAND FOAD!
Everyone knows ROTFL.
LOL is even easier.
Next year my study group will start studying Shakespeare and Middle English. I am only lucky not to be here then.

So why would I bother with one frigging essay? It's not like it's going to matter when I die. I won't get an easier death because of that. I won't hurt any less. I won't die more easily.
Writing it won't kill me and not writing it won't kill me. I gain nothing.

"I hear you say the words that once changed me."
[...]
But I don't.