HOPE IS ARSENAL FOR THE LEAGUE TITLE, OKAY.

But gods above, I am almost sick of all the football.

And that sentence there is all my problems in a nutshell, yes? I'm failing everything, I have everything else, I have a soon-to-be viral video to worry about and two subjects to pass and a Cristiano Ronaldo AU fic to write (oh dear gods, cornerflag), and I am complaining about Arsenal. I am complaining about Arsenal only gunning for the Premier League. One time zone away from me there is a nuclear meltdown in the process of happening and there are thousand of people without homes and possibly without the people that they care about and halfway around the world there are people taking to the streets because they have had enough and they've been seeing images of other people who have had enough and managed to get rid of the people they have had enough of and they still bleeding believe in doing stuff. On the sidewalks outside my house there live people who just barely manage to scrape by every day, if they do manage, and who don't even get half of the chances to be a happy human being that I take for granted. I am a freaking Intarmed student and I don't even have to worry about paying for my tuition and I am spending my whole life trying to get out, and what the hell is there for me to get out of?

And look, it's not even the football I'm sick of, not really. I'm sick of not being able to live in my head without the football, I'm sick of the fact that I might just be still alive because I had this great fear (no chance of it coming to fruitition now) that Arsenal would win the Champions League final at Wembley and I would not be alive enough to watch it on a fuzzy stream at 5:30 in the morning, screaming like a screaming idiot. I am sick of saying/thinking/writing the word "I" fifty thousand times a day and having nothing good amount from it. I get that everyone has their own set of problems, that having more doesn't make you immune to misery. I get that. The thing is that you have to do the work, and I don't do the work, because whatever, I can't deal with it, or maybe I can, I'm just not willing to try.

In the living room there are seven classmates singing Never Gonna Leave This Bed, and what the hell kind of person are you if you cannot love a world where you can have in your living room seven classmates singing Never Gonna Leave This Bed. What the hell kind of person are you if you cannot take your head out of your head once in a while and put it to something effective.

You have two weeks and the rest of your life. That "you" is just a fake "I", it's not fooling anyone. Let's go, Jillian Lee.

HOPE IS ARSENAL FOR THE LEAGUE TITLE, OKAY.

But gods above, I am almost sick of all the football.

And that sentence there is all my problems in a nutshell, yes? I'm failing everything, I have everything else, I have a soon-to-be viral video to worry about and two subjects to pass and a Cristiano Ronaldo AU fic to write (oh dear gods, cornerflag), and I am complaining about Arsenal. I am complaining about Arsenal only gunning for the Premier League. One time zone away from me there is a nuclear meltdown in the process of happening and there are thousand of people without homes and possibly without the people that they care about and halfway around the world there are people taking to the streets because they have had enough and they've been seeing images of other people who have had enough and managed to get rid of the people they have had enough of and they still bleeding believe in doing stuff. On the sidewalks outside my house there live people who just barely manage to scrape by every day, if they do manage, and who don't even get half of the chances to be a happy human being that I take for granted. I am a freaking Intarmed student and I don't even have to worry about paying for my tuition and I am spending my whole life trying to get out, and what the hell is there for me to get out of?

And look, it's not even the football I'm sick of, not really. I'm sick of not being able to live in my head without the football, I'm sick of the fact that I might just be still alive because I had this great fear (no chance of it coming to fruitition now) that Arsenal would win the Champions League final at Wembley and I would not be alive enough to watch it on a fuzzy stream at 5:30 in the morning, screaming like a screaming idiot. I am sick of saying/thinking/writing the word "I" fifty thousand times a day and having nothing good amount from it. I get that everyone has their own set of problems, that having more doesn't make you immune to misery. I get that. The thing is that you have to do the work, and I don't do the work, because whatever, I can't deal with it, or maybe I can, I'm just not willing to try.

In the living room there are seven classmates singing Never Gonna Leave This Bed, and what the hell kind of person are you if you cannot love a world where you can have in your living room seven classmates singing Never Gonna Leave This Bed. What the hell kind of person are you if you cannot take your head out of your head once in a while and put it to something effective.

You have two weeks and the rest of your life. That "you" is just a fake "I", it's not fooling anyone. Let's go, Jillian Lee.