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No. 1414
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>>1396
>Working in itself is absolutely no problem, starting is.
Exactly. Let me quote myself here:
>Once you'll get past that point you'll notice how easy the task at hand actually is (even though it may be tedious) and you'll wonder why the fuck it took you so long to begin.
No matter how small the first step is always hardest of them all.
>How I passed my exams so far? I never slept. Exams are usually at 8 or 9AM, so the night the before is the only time I can actually make myself study, only because I am under extreme pressure.
Same here. If it's a 'now or never' case I usually manage to somehow pull it off. I never slept on Sundays.
>After all this is over I can only feel anger and guilt. I know I could have done better, I'm not stupid, why do I have to do this? Why can that guy that's dumb as wall study so hard during weeks before the test and get good marks and I can't?
I can only say it's fair. We have potential but we never make any of it so it's only fair that we never achieve great results. What really makes me sad is seeing people who really give it their best and still fail. During all my years in education there were always people like that in my classes. They would study all week long and somehow fail the test either way while I never touched any textbooks and sill passed them all. That didn't feel good, not at all.
>>1398
I kinda dropped out. Again. Sorry bro.
But I think I managed to write one of them during the night. Not sure about that one, though.
Oh and I dropped out not because of those papers... or rather, not only because of them. I missed tenths of deadlines and at one point it became apparent to me that it's pointless as I'm just not capable of forcing myself to do something.
Also, I figured out I might suffer from neurosis. I finished reading 'The Bell Jar' and if that's what neurosis looks like I'm 100% positive that that's my problem. There were paragraphs that I could have easily written myself (well, maybe not so skillfully) as I felt exactly the same way. For example this:
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
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