Drawing a thin line

I'm holding a pencil in my hand. Yegads, this feels good. Just taking my time studying what I'm going to draw, then giving it undivided attention. I suppose I shouldn't dwell on it too much, or else the joy of it will be spoiled.

Looking back, I can feel a certain change in the way I'm writing. I was out with a friend today, having lunch (how /girly/!) and she was having fun spooking me about how I'll be a full-fledged adult in less than six months. I get anxiety attacks just thinking about it. Just like my phobia of seeing a picture of the World. (aaah, you don't know about this one, do you?)

I've always had this thing, whenever I see an image of the Earth as seen from outer space. It freaks me out to such an extent, that I start hyperventilating and feeling cold and wanting to cry (mmmm...no. Don't go there, Gin. I probably did /not/ have traumatic experiences while in the womb, nor did I ever see my parents naked - individually /or/ playing horsie, thank you very much.)

So yeah, being a grown-up is kinda like that. For the first time in my life - and probably thanks to all the info I've been acquiring since I started doing volunteering work - I can actually feel the world stretching out in front of me. Anywhere is a possibility. Belgium? Why not? Holland, you say? Could be... Japan? Aaaah, yes, the land of glory. And yet I doubt that I've ever felt less motivated than I do now. I don't want to go to school, I don't want to get a job, I don't want to start working on my thesis paper (and the fact that senpai has been bitten by that bug just goes to prove how ubercool she is, and the extent of my suckiness *hangs head in sorrow* I am unworthy. And those AMV's you gave me will be the death of me. So thank you!!!) <- *is dysfunctional*

Of course, there's also the problem with tp, and his having one more year of school, and what are we going to do about /that/? Because, in the best sense of lemming tradition, (probably especially because I know it can't be done, or it will be difficult to) I have this /uuuuurge/ to go. Just go. Pack up and move. Do something stupid. Have a tour of every single temple in Asia. Go eat at every McDonald's in South America. /Something/. Because I feel my life is coming to an end (no, I'm not dying just yet. Probably. Though seeing that trolley-bus going down my street might be a sign, saaaa....), and I'm scared shitless about it. What am I going to do?

I know I said I'll rant about Yami no Matsuei, and Cultural Institutes in Bucharest, and (for some odd reason I can't remember) old ladies, but I'll keep it short, since I'm not in the mood (and I have this anally violating deadline for a project. Yes, it /is/ partly my fault, but even if I'd seen the mail earlier, I still wouldn't have had time to start on it. In the end, this is the same reason as the one for which I didn't see the mail... Duhi!)

And btw @ anally violating. Duuuude, I saw this hentai manga done after Ichigo 100%... Can I NOT EVER have to associate /those/ images ever again, pleasekthanks?

Yami no Matsuei kinda rocked my foundations. Both in the "rock on, dude \m/" way, and the "earthquaky" one. Those people are soooo... what's the word? Un-frustrated. Or, even if they are, they act it out in such an honest and unassuming way (see Tatsuki being in love with Tsuzuki). And, just as I was saying in Deko (btw, unrelated: people, don't go to Cafe Deko! It kinda sucks.), they move in a way that suggests they've completely accepted who and what they are, that they have no sexual frustrations, that they're fine with the way they look and the way other people perceive them in. Plus, Tsuzuki's hot and Hisoka is discussion-cannon-fodder to last us the rest of our lives. Or at least mine.

I love the way I can just clear up all my ideas just by talking to senpai. Talking to you makes me feel really good about really confusing stuff *glomps*

Cultural Institutes in Bucharest are something out of this world. The British Council is kinda the best as far as client service is concerned (though being the best of the worse is no reason for pride where I'm standing), at least among the ones I frequent. Of course, they have their shortcomings, but shit like that which has happened to Gabi on several occasions has never happened to me (or if it did, I very logically and very /determinately/ requested that the matter be put to right. It's cool to be a bitch. Dad was so proud of me today :* ).

The French Institute is a blob of unorganized personnel (librarians who don't know their own books, look spaced out/stoned, and have noooooo incentive to help you / be nice to you whatsoever.) with few resources. Their only redeeming feature is that their prices are low compared to, say, my next topic of rant/complaint. As they say, "it's worth whatever you pay for it", ne?

And now, und jetzt, geehrte Damen und Herren, it's time for the Goethe Institute. Yegads, what happened there on sign-up day (when we were supposed to take part in the "inscrieri pentru fostii cursanti" - signing up for new courses, held exclusively for people who weren't on their first Goethe course) was a blast. Seriously, you should have been there. You should have stood on the barricades with the rest of us, get the medals and the t-shirts and the hits and roll with the puches like we didAnd I am maintaining my heart-felt belief, that Frau Militaru (or whatever that blasted woman's name is) is several screws short of a barrel of crazy monkeys (no, that phrase was not meant to mean anything. Neither is anything she says/does.)

For details on any of the above, I shall provide if there are those who want to hear it. (i.e.: not here. Mi-e lene. :|)

Oh yes, and I remembered about the old ladies: if I'd had any innocence left, I could have safely said it ended the day when an old lady looking like a textbook illustration of the grandma I never had, but always wanted, tried to stop me on the street to ask for the time. Since I was about to keep half-running/half-jogging past her (normal walking speed for the lemming that's always tardy after leaving home waaay to early. Care to explain, anyone who knows quantum physics?), she called out the most world-shattering phrase I've ever heard: "I'm not begging, miss. I just want to know what time it is." I wanted to kneel before her, apologize for every thought in my head, and cry. Maybe then I'll have found redemption.

Redemption is a loaf of bread, fresh out of the oven. Now stop reading my moronic rants and go do something useful - listen to Three Days Grace - Let you down. *shivers semi-orgasmically*