dirty boots in the middle of the night

My mind needs to be stimulated.  It lacks imagination and motivation as of lately.  I have all the tools in front of me: a new laptop (mac mac mac attack, folks), countless experiences, and plenty of new faces; however, I can’t seem to break past the first paragraph.  Am I thinking too much or not enough?  It’s pretty confusing.  I think I miss my old friends.  These old souls who are far away from me and I’m stuck in shitty grey Vancouver.  I need to get out of here, but, judging by my less than stellar marks as of late, I’ll be stuck here for the next little while, getting my GPA up to par.

 Physically, I feel really disgusting.  My relatives were visiting last weekend, and it was really stressful.  I remain the black sheep in the family because everything I have done angers the Asian Gods or what not.

1. My boyfriend is Caucasian.

2. I go to school, but not for prestigious careers (medical/law)

3. I am not skinny

I don’t think I’m fat, but I am not spectacular looking, either.  I don’t know if I was supposed to feel good or bad when my relatives told me that I lost weight.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to take it when they tell me that I’ve gotten prettier.  What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.  I’m insecure as it is, living in this warped society where the media delegates what is pretty and what is not.  I don’t need my own family judging me.  I’m pretty sure they think that they’re giving me compliments, but really, there’s nothing really complimenting about it.  Or thanks to how I have been brought up, I am unable to take a compliment.  I twist words around into the negative sense in order to be harder on myself, unable to be pleased with how I am, and feel that I will always need to  better myself.

Fuck. I’m doomed. 

A friend told me that a certain “online journal” was too immature and gimmicky for me and that I should really consider moving forward with my blogging endeavours. I associate journals with the lock-and-key diaries that girls always seem to get the minute they turn eight years old. I will no longer begin entries with “Dear Diary…” (Success!)
So here I stand, hoping to be accepted as an adult blogger. I think I’m finally (well, for the most part) finished with the teenage angst that I carried with me since my t(w)eens (a.k.a the silverchair years). Although I still find myself in various funks every now and then (blame it on the S.A.D), I maintain a positive attitude.

You will probably find bits of Japanese dispersed throughout this because I am learning it in school and need to practice in hopes of going to school in Tokyo in the distant future, so be prepared.