porashunoe final jolanjoli

i am so utterly sick of examinations. i dont usually say things like this, the person on the other side of the phone does. i am the one who keeps saying in a know-it-all voice "you know there's no use saying that, you have opted to sit for examinations and the you cannot beat the system, fucked up as it is, so you better join it.". all my life i have believed this, since i sat for my first exam at age ten. all my life. they have given me the rules and i have said to myself, the only way you can get the better of this system is by playing according to their rules and beating them at their game with as little damage to yourself as possible.
i am not paranoid about exams. they have always been just another one of those unpleasant things one has to endure, like menstruation...you can't let it interfere with your life, but you cannot be oblivious to it either. i have tried my best to do as well in examinations as it is possible to do without compromising daily adda and weekly parties. i have forced myself to study and said to my friends "porte ichhe korchhena abar ki adikhyetar kotha? porte hole porte hobe, byas!"
i have had enough. i cannot do this anymore. the last ten semesters full of incessant niggling bloody class tests and term papers and endsems and this and that and the other have pushed me beyond my limits. a day before my last university exams are about to start i realize with a jolt that i DON"T FUCKING CARE ANYMORE. i have nothing to prove to anyone anymore. i think i have proved it enough times that i am perfectly capable of reading a text, understanding it, and writing an acceptable 5 page answer on it under thirty minutes. i have proved this to n number of people n number of times each. and now i just can't be bothered to repeat this bloody circus act for the (n+1)th time. i am tired of it all. because it proves nothing really, neither my intelligence nor my originality. only the fact that i can imitate a machine with inordinate accuracy- a bloody answer writing machine. devoid of brains or finer sensibilities or true appreciation for literature. i have ripped apart my favourite poems and plays and destroyed them with banalities- either my own, or my those of my teachers or critics. i cannot force myself anymore. i just want to read king lear and think and cry my heart out for a stupid, rash, and misogynist old fool and not worry about whether the reconciliation scene was act 4 sc 7 or6.

megalomania

i am a grouch. a misanthrope. a difficult person to be with. i have no idea why my friends put up with me, or why my boyfriend is still with me. i am ill-and-short-tempered, neither funny nor particularly bright, and most definitely not visually appealing. no really. i have thought about it, objectively, ala suchismita bose, and it is not out of self-pity i say these things. for despite everything i am completely and overwhelmingly in love with myself. i am firmly convinced that i am the best thing that has happened to the world since the invention of cigarettes. (who invented cigarettes by the way? euripides tells me that dionysus invented alcohol, but cigarettes?) inside my head of course i am stunningly gorgeous, and mindbogglingly brilliant, and side-splittingly funny.
what i cannot, for the life of me, figure out is why others think the same way! :-P

or maybe thats inside my head as well.
shob-e maya. i shall buy my friends gold medallions.