I don't know what's wrong with me these days,but I don't want to talk about it,or write about it.I feel...strange.More than usual.
I'm going to my grandpas for Easter after all.I'm pretty nervous for the period after holiday,because it begins the applications for Erasmus,and I'm not yet decided in which country to go to,in case I'm selected.There are a lot of things holding me back,and I know that if I go,when I'll come back nothing will be the same,but it's a risk I have to take.I want to take.Now,I don't like to make plans from before because the disappointment will be greater if I already consider myself gone.But,I do have to think about that "if".I hate it that it's only Europe in accord with Erasmus.That makes things harder.Mom of course wants me to go there,near her,but I want a fresh beginning,from zero.And I would love to go to Germany or Finland:D.Now "if" I leave in October it's going to be a tough one.Courses only in English,when you barely understand some things in your own language,and from what I heard Germans are not so "friendly" with outsiders.But it will be a great training.Still I HOPE I get selected to go,with all the risks assumed.This holiday I have to think it well what I choose,cause it may be more important than I realize.
Many projects in store,exams are already getting close.I'm excited about my Satanism research,although I don't know where the hell I'm going to find 30 satanists to interview.I'm looking for trouble,for sure.Oh,well that's me.
Oh,well,of other things I prefer not to speak.You know,when you admit something out loud it becomes more real than it was before you do it.Now,I'm not afraid that it becomes more real,because I'm very aware of that,but even formulate that sentence it makes me frightened and guilty at the same time.It's just too painful.So,I prefer avoiding to even think about it.
PS:H.P. Lovecraft is actually a genius of fantasist horror,a more psychological horror,to say so.I'm really enjoying his writings.
His room is filled with books of the tamest and most puerile kind, and hour after hour he tries to lose himself in their feeble pages. All he seeks from life is not to think. For some reason thought is very horrible to him, and anything which stirs the imagination he flees as a plague.[...]It might be in the visible world, yet it might be only in his mind and soul. Perhaps he held within his own half-explored brain that cryptic link which would awaken him to elder and future lives in forgotten dimensions; which would bind him to the stars, and to the infinities and eternities beyond them.("The descendant"-Lovecraft)