Dear Diary,
I am so upset in my life. It’s only been a year since I made this deal and yet everything I’ve dreamt of has made me so upset. I dreamed of beauty, and they stowed it upon me; I dreamed of love and to be cherished, again this was given to me. I wished for a fantastic career, and yet again they found my job to be as exciting as a baby discovering the unknown world that they’ve been born into.
I do not want to seem ungrateful Diary but please take back these gifts you’ve given me. The beauty that I appeared so to desire, people no longer see my personality; they are just taken with my looks. The loved one that you bestowed upon me is scaring me. He loves me Solely for my looks; he does whatever I say; however; I wanted someone to talk to, keep me company, explain things to me and understand me; he doesn’t. Instead, he bends the knee and agrees with all that I say, even the most stupid of things. I wanted an intellectual conversation to stimulate my mind. Instead, I got nothing but a back-end of a donkey. I wanted a fantastic career, and it is just that… to others. To me, I have to deal with the difficulties of things I could never imagine. I can only think of the mundane Monday that people experience. The new field that I work is incredible, and the findings of my research are just inspiring.
Let’s deal with something for me. Something to challenge me. Something to change me. My dreams have never been more fulfilled, and yet I have nothing to reach for. I want the world around me to just implode, For the simple fact that I do not want to live anymore in this reality. Sometimes I go for drives in the never pleasurable anymore. The phone call to interrupt me is always something to do with work. And work is… is well it’s exciting, but it’s not what I’ve been looking for. it Is exciting for others, diary. It’s exciting to watch, and It’s creating a ster. I’m not the coffee cup though, I’m the stick, and the research that I find pushes me to want to quit. The psychology of people, the psychopathology of daily life. The media which we interact with. We have so much in common, yet we are so far apart. The cogs of the wheel of personality and facets that create that cog, making us so complicated. Maybe I enjoy my job… no, no, I do not. I am seen for my looks, and not my achievement, I am recognised for the trials of my career, not for my research. My husband is forever doting, but never truly there.
I shouldn’t have made the wishes I did. I should have wished for something less permanent, like ice cream on a hot summers day. Even then, I would have been given a problem. They say you can’t wish your questions away. There isn’t just a problem with wishing them away; there is a problem with having the wish. The cake always looks better than it tastes and in this case diary, the cake tasted horrid. The friends that once embraced me, now won’t talk to me, because they believe that I’m living in the fast lane. In truth, I’m barely living.
Post a Comment