There Are Silent Murderers Somewhere, Sweetheart.

found via It's not about how you look it's about how you see
Could I say that this sixth semester is the hardest semester I have to live through in college? It is only three or four weeks since the semester starts but the pressure are building intensively that I do not think it is an option to either die or to simply kill my self before this semester actually ends.

First assignments are usually those simple tasks—the ones I could simply finish a day before dateline, because I am the best at procrastinate and act as if I am a boss to be able to do such things and things like that much alike—but this time it will be absolutely different. The assignments are murderers; I am saying this by mean it could kill, literally.

The first assignment for Radio & TV Production class is that I have to come out with ideas for a television talk show program—which mean I have to play the role of whoever it is who comes out with ideas for a new television talk show on real television. This is the only class I have to go through with a bunch of broadcasting students altogether thus the pressure are high, seriously.

To think I—a horrible almost anti-social journalism student—to have the ability to think exactly as how broadcasting students are able to is simply ridiculous. I may be good in terms of writing but to come out with a new idea for a television talk show is just ridiculous, plain ridiculous.

It goes the same for the first assignment for Media Psychology class. I am horrible in assignments that involves outings assignments—those that needs me to leave my house and do real field works out there in real world, when I am all anti-reality right here in my own imaginary world. To actually see me cover an event and write a news about it—oh God, just let me dig a hole and allow me to live in there permanently.

I don’t think there is a way out from this semester unless it means death. I am going to fail, I could already feel it. It is either I run away or face it bravely, but ends up miserably. Why must it become this difficult? It is these little things that make me feel that I should have not quit graphic design in the first place. Should just stay through the hardship of an art student rather than to mingle with this kind of problems.

Assignments are really the murderers that will haunt me until the very end of this route. They will literally become the death of me—or perhaps my already dying brain cells, because lately I am not able to think properly without fucking up my life even more. I am already a train-wreck; I do not need those murderers I call as assignments to wreck it all up even more for me. 

Now let me sit in my personal corner and cry my eyes out at how I am going to miserably ruin all of my assignments by my self. Everything is due next week—I am so going to die by that time. Or if I am still alive by some miracle, please lend me a hand and shoot a bullet from a revolver through my brain. Make it less painful please, because reality and life are already too hard for me to handle while alive.