There is very little I want to do in life anymore; when I think of my shriveled-up ambitions and the sad lack of caring, I am sad too; the sadness is within and without, both the thing consuming me and the cerebral animal response. I want to find that sadness in other people, but mostly I see desperation and ambition and hardwork and focus. I can’t escape my own rationalization of it; the deception is obvious. How very highschool of me, this internal mantra: what is the point what is the point what is the point. How very selfish and narrow. But what are the other people working towards? They have no weekends; their free time is scheduled into self-care and social engagements and maybe getting drunk. I want none of this; apparently I am not capable of it, given the number of classes I have skipped and the assignments I have not finished. What do I do if I am not capable of university? These years are the foregrounding of the basic tenets for the rest of my life: getting up on time, going to the necessary places, being prepared, being engaged, leaving, going to the next places, sitting alone and working, sitting with friends and pretending to work, going back to one’s dorm/house/apartment and crying or eating ramen in front of anime or masturbating, and then going to the gym or pretending one doesn’t really need to, and then going to bed on time and getting up the next morning again. That is life. Of course, for girls there is also a continuous graveyard of skin creams and hair products and broken hearts. No one tells me it is necessary; in fact, people say very strongly that it isn’t necessary: you’re beautiful just the way you are. Fuck off, instagram bitch. No one says being beautiful is necessary, but the general hierarchy of society confirms to anyone with half a brain and eyes. I still want to look attractive so men like me. I don’t think this is entirely a bad thing. Everyone wants to look attractive so other people like them. Of course, you say, but everyone also wants to cocaine or have illicit sex in the office, and they don’t do that, do they? Yes, asshole, but there’s a little nuance; there is a difference between the parts of human nature that should be repressed and the parts that shouldn’t, especially as those latter parts are desires which propel us into the natural reproduction of the species. Cocaine doesn’t exactly aid in the survival of the human race, but as obscene as it sounds, skin cream from South Korea does, because it better ensures attraction and mating and reproduction. People do not want to admit these things because everyone wants to perfect the way they are so they do not have to worry about self-improvement. Don’t you realize your endless homework and resume-building and hustling is also self-improvement? What did you think it was — just exponential improvements on a pre-existing perfection? Still, none of this justifies my skipping class. The point remains that I don’t really care whether I attend or not, and in this I am just as millennial as the ideologies I have been berating. Soapboxes are easy, as is passivity. I could perhaps make a career out of both; many people have, but something in doing so feels disgustingly exploitative. Do I personally care about the answers to these questions? No. I am not prosaic even to say “I just want to sleep” because I don’t; I don’t want to do anything. The logical endpoint of this is obvious but I have no desire for that either. My own self-protection measures are weirdly over-developed and I cannot hurt myself. What I want to do I don’t know. Logically, I should drop out of school now instead of finishing the semester and work to save money for the gap year, the traveling year, where I am supposed to Eat Pray Love and all that shit. I’ll likely blog about it and exploit the wanderlust of other broke college students who not lucky enough to have clinical depression and immediately sever all their life plans and almost their lives. But I don’t know where I would work. This is becoming pathetic, so I will things — not things in general, just this.