Fit

I haven’t been hurting for a while now, which is good. The self-doubt still exists in some form, but in general I’ve conditioned myself to just bow my head slightly against the thoughts and play a few rounds of Tsum-Tsum.

Reservist felt like speaking pretty-broken Chinese to mom’s friends; I try to respond with as much enthusiasm as they do, but I’ve forgotten this language we used to share and the struggle to remember just complicates it further.

Hanging with the Stage fellas feels like watching dad’s blocky company van drive to the pickup point in the midst of all the sleek cars; bulky to the point of being sore and even though nobody points it out, I feel inferior at the craft and I struggle with my very existence in this matter.

I keep moaning about my age, the big ol’ double two’s and a voice in my head constantly chimes in with a “you gotta act your age, bruv” (not sure why he’s a chav but whatever). With the age comes maturity, but you have to work to fit the britches you’ve been thrust in. There’s been too many times I’ve caught myself at the brink of ignorance.

The Stage elections were horrendous, with me cracking jokes and doing cringe worthy things as a product of anxiety. I’ve skimped entirely on my gym routine ever since Zach’s left for Canada. (I miss his cologne in a platonic way) Chee and I have completely ignored Orbital and milestone 2 is due tomorrow, Jesus. Don’t even mention how I’ve Orbital, Stage, CS2010 and Student Fellowship clogging my holiday’s drainpipe.

I make up for these by forging forward; speaking to more girls and not being afraid to ask people out.

I’ve come to see myself as a person only capable of following, only preferring to lead when the spotlight’s on my toes (Stage Managing, CFC etc) Otherwise, I’m just a lump of fat just slouching in a corner playing minecraft.

To be good at writing… you must write. To be good at acting… you must act.

I’m so tired of the voices that say I can’t.