the 29th

Today is July 29th. How do I know?

Yesterday was the birthday of my brother’s girlfriend and we spent most of the day at a gathering in her house. And tomorrow is the birthday of a cousin of mine, who’s a Ravenclaw with a Gryffindor’s heart. Just like I am a Ravenclaw with a Slyth’s mind, according to the comment I left in Naomi’s LJ the other day. So, both dates lead me to the conclusion that this is indeed the 29th. And what’s so special about it?

It has finally sunk in that 6 days from now starts a 6-months period of what I’ve come to call Net Abstinence. I had been dreading it all along – whined at poor Aimee’s ear more than once – but somehow it had never hit me as an unavoidable Fact before. I think that I secretly believed I’d find a way to bend rules and Time itself so that I wouldn’t have to leave. But now I know I can’t do that, for one very simple reason: I promised myself I’d make it.

What with family pressure and all that. My relatives are not very enthusiastic about the hours I spend online, or my taste that drives me invariably towards the Fantastic. Example: during a trip with my grandmother at the beginning of the month, she offered to buy me a book. I said that I wanted either more of Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, or Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. At which she glared at me and said that I needed to put my feet on the ground, stop chasing Vampires, Loonies, Wizards, etc, etc and start caring about Men. That reality is often much more fantastic than any fiction. Blah, blah, blah. That I’m to be a Journalist – that I am, really. I don’t see how else I could write for a living – and that implies showing a lot of people the world through my eyes and in order to do that I must build up a sensible and informed opinion.
My mother hates it that I RP. Simple as that. I’ve told her more about it than I’ve told anyone else, and more often than not it proves to be a mistake because the more she knows about what goes on here, the more reproving is her gaze.

But my family is not what can stop me from being here. There’s no commitment as significant as the ones I make to myself.
It kills me to fail others, but to do that to myself is proof that I didn’t try hard enough. I don’t set absurd goals for myself, so what I aim for I fully expect to get. Moreover, other people are often forgiving. I’m not, when it comes to myself. There’s no reason I should be.

So, what’s in store for me? And what’s my current situation?

I’ve quit RPGs and mailing lists. I’ve put a stop of most of my writing, actually, except for the nights spent with instant messengers.
I know that I’ll never stop writing as long as I breathe, because I’ve been doing that regularly for six years now. (Writing, that is, not breathing *smacks self*). But I need to decrease its volume and its importance in my life, else I’ll go mad when deprived of it.
But maybe I’m not trying to do that. All I did was quit the RPGs so as not to be a nuisance to the other players. And now I’m just sitting here and waiting for life to catch up with me.

My feelings and thoughts regarding this are very contradictory. Part of me thinks it might be good to put my feet on the ground for an extended period of time. Character building and all that other crap.
But most of me is scarred. During all of this year, every time I had to go away for a few days my thoughts would come back to my muses without fail.

Why am I not mentioning my friends? Because that’s the most painful part of the process and I’d rather not think about it.

The worst bit of it is that it’s me doing this to myself and others. Just me.

I’m a good student. I trust myself to pass the examination, and know that I don’t really need a preparatory course. If I could make myself sit down and study for three hours a day, I’d do just fine. But I can’t. Don’t have that discipline, nor that willpower.
And if I can’t get myself to do some much-needed studying, how am I expecting to keep away from here?

Believe me when I say I’ve got no idea.

I haven’t been making any sense here, getting absolutely nowhere. For the first time in years, I do not know how to express myself. And that hurts. My personal gift are my words, I believe. If I don’t have them, then I have very little else.

There’s something I’m not sure whether to feel happy or worried about. I’m a 17-year-old whose biggest torment are the distressed Muses. Let me put this a little better.
Yes, I’ve got family problems, health/nervous problems, problems with my love-life. Who doesn’t? But those will always be there, and can be ignored for most of the time. I much prefer to suffer Draco’s pains than my own.

My two biggest muses are Draco and Lord Voldemort. The Malfoy Heir is the Main Muse. That is not, however, owed to him being the first HP character I fell in love with (that’d be the Weasley Twins. *smiles* well-kept secret of mine). Why does Draco get the title, then? Voldie’s much more complex and fascinating.

Thing is, whenever I write Voldie, it’s as if I’m in some sort of a trance. I can’t for the life of me tell where the words, action and feelings come from.
As for Draco, well, a feeling of my chest being slightly compressed has tipped me to the origins of all Draco-related things. That’s why he’s my Main Muse. Nothing all that rational or elaborate, just heartache.

And why am I expanding on this is beyond me. But I guess that’s why I like LJ, in the first place. There needn’t be a theme or a reason for writing. I can ramble about whatever I feel like. That is precious and freeing in many ways.

Even during my “Net Abstinence”, I’m not abandoning LJ. I think it’s a good way to keep in touch, and a sure safe haven to my thoughts. Given that I won’t be writing fics or RPing anymore, I’ll need somewhere to flood with my (angsty!) writings.