Distractions
Sometimes I think my brain wants to burst out of my skull.
Fact: I over-think a lot. Before, I used to deny that I do, because I don’t want to look like I’m a caveman who fusses over everything, and I don’t want to act like the young Carrie Bradshaw. But lately I don’t care what others think about me anymore. I’ve gone past that insecure stage. I finally had the guts to knock on the door and step inside the DGAF Room of the IDGAF people. Yes, IDGAF anymore… okay maybe
not totally – of course I still listen to my family and the friends I actually regard as friends. IDGAF but that doesn’t mean my mind isn’t open anymore. Going back, yes, I over-think a lot.
I think about so many things at the same time. Sometimes I look at it like an asset, like a gift, because, hello, not everyone can multitask. The ability to over-think comes in handy in several situations/scenarios: for example, when everyone is busy with their own business but not every business is given attention, the over-thinkers can manage
two businesses at the same time. I can work with this and think what to do next with the other. That’s how I perceive over-thinking: multitasking like a mutated superhuman with eight arms and double sets of brain.
Here’s the downside of over-thinking: the inability to focus. For some reason, this is one of my biggest problems, along with my poor eyesight and humungous arms. I cannot focus. I can
never focus. When I was a kid, I think my attention span was average – I could work on a project and not be able to divert myself with extrinsic noises; I could read a petty novelette without the need to slap myself awake. But as I grew older and learned too many things my brain can barely handle, I get distracted easily. Yes, that’s the word:
distracted. I can’t remember a single moment when I’m preoccupied with something and not be distracted with whatever I see with my peripheral vision or hear with my bat ears (just kidding about bat ears). It’s frustrating – all the fucking time.
So this blog post basically talks about my distractions (that’s so weird). I’d write about the moments I got distracted and the felon who/which led to the said distraction. Pray I don’t get distracted right now and lose interest with what I’m doing.
I get easily distracted with noises, and who fucking doesn’t, right? This is such a lame excuse. When I’m at the library and engrossed with something, and then suddenly this bunch of noisy kids would barrage in like it’s the freaking
nightclub, my brain and eyes and everything else – and I guess everyone else’s brain and eyes – will divert its attention to them. It’s really annoying, especially when what I’m engrossed with is something really complicated, like Algebra or the daily crossword. In fortunate moments, I can easily get my bearings and continue on with my business. But in my cranky moments, as much as I would like to be triumphant with finishing a problem or a puzzle, I couldn’t. I just pack everything and sleep (even though it isn’t allowed). God, these noisy kids.
I get easily distracted with my fangirl subjects (Minho will kill me for calling them “subjects”). This affects me more when I’m researching over the Internet. I pull up Google, Facebook, Twitter and sometimes Tumblr – which is a bad idea. Facebook isn’t that distracting (I have trained myself to ignore those selfies); I go to my Mentions page first before scrolling through my timeline so Twitter isn’t so bad either. It’s Tumblr that ruins my life – it’s like a butter that I know would give me too much cholesterol yet it makes everything taste heavenly. Tumblr is where everything awesome, beautiful, handsome, blown-up-ovaries-worthy beings dwell. Even works of arts and book fandoms can be a distraction – I’m so
helpless. You see your Dashboard and then,
bam, your eyes pop and your ovaries/hormones threaten to burst out of their shells. And then I forget what I was supposed to be researching for because that photo of Paul Wesley glued me to my spot. God, these eternally beautiful creatures and arts.
I get easily distracted when I’m in Goodreads. Before, I only go to Goodreads to update my reading status and maybe check out my Recommendations box, but lately I’ve frequented myself with Group/Book Discussions. One of my frustrations in life is not having friends who actually read like their life depended on it. The only friends I know that read can only be contacted online. I want/need someone who I can talk to about how awesome Six is and how fucked up the Gladers’ lives are. Nobody in my school relates. I talk to them about this and that, and then they’d just look at me like I’m spitting out pages of the encyclopedia – and the stories I share aren’t even
that complicated! So to make up for this loss, I got on these discussions, and wow, it’s the best thing ever! Goodreads people are like the Einstein of the 21st century. I don’t even know their real names but I feel like I love them already. God, these smart bookworms.
I get easily distracted with my Book Feels. The emotions I feel while and after reading a novel are now officially called “Book Feels” (dang, I’m so creative). When I’m in class and the professor is discussing something, my mind wanders off to the book I’ve just read. Will Character A be okay? Will Character B choose Guy A, or will it be Guy B? What will Character C prefer for dessert: chocolate fondue or strawberry shortcake? Sometimes I think these authors have formed a
conspiracy to ruin every reader’s life. Or maybe it’s just us – or
me, for heaven’s sake. I can’t disassociate myself with the magical or 1980s fictional world. I always have this bubble wherein every book character exists; I act like the Herondales are real and that Idris is just around the corner. And then I cry a lot when a character dies or when the dialogues are piercingly heartbreaking – okay, also when I get jealous of their awesome romantic life. I have come to realize that I am miserable. God, these authors.
There are still lots of things and phenomena that decreases my attention span. But right now my hunger is distracting me, so maybe a 2.0 will come? (As if I haven’t been annoying enough.)
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Distractions
Sometimes I think my brain wants to burst out of my skull.
Fact: I over-think a lot. Before, I used to deny that I do, because I don’t want to look like I’m a caveman who fusses over everything, and I don’t want to act like the young Carrie Bradshaw. But lately I don’t care what others think about me anymore. I’ve gone past that insecure stage. I finally had the guts to knock on the door and step inside the DGAF Room of the IDGAF people. Yes, IDGAF anymore… okay maybe
not totally – of course I still listen to my family and the friends I actually regard as friends. IDGAF but that doesn’t mean my mind isn’t open anymore. Going back, yes, I over-think a lot.
I think about so many things at the same time. Sometimes I look at it like an asset, like a gift, because, hello, not everyone can multitask. The ability to over-think comes in handy in several situations/scenarios: for example, when everyone is busy with their own business but not every business is given attention, the over-thinkers can manage
two businesses at the same time. I can work with this and think what to do next with the other. That’s how I perceive over-thinking: multitasking like a mutated superhuman with eight arms and double sets of brain.
Here’s the downside of over-thinking: the inability to focus. For some reason, this is one of my biggest problems, along with my poor eyesight and humungous arms. I cannot focus. I can
never focus. When I was a kid, I think my attention span was average – I could work on a project and not be able to divert myself with extrinsic noises; I could read a petty novelette without the need to slap myself awake. But as I grew older and learned too many things my brain can barely handle, I get distracted easily. Yes, that’s the word:
distracted. I can’t remember a single moment when I’m preoccupied with something and not be distracted with whatever I see with my peripheral vision or hear with my bat ears (just kidding about bat ears). It’s frustrating – all the fucking time.
So this blog post basically talks about my distractions (that’s so weird). I’d write about the moments I got distracted and the felon who/which led to the said distraction. Pray I don’t get distracted right now and lose interest with what I’m doing.
I get easily distracted with noises, and who fucking doesn’t, right? This is such a lame excuse. When I’m at the library and engrossed with something, and then suddenly this bunch of noisy kids would barrage in like it’s the freaking
nightclub, my brain and eyes and everything else – and I guess everyone else’s brain and eyes – will divert its attention to them. It’s really annoying, especially when what I’m engrossed with is something really complicated, like Algebra or the daily crossword. In fortunate moments, I can easily get my bearings and continue on with my business. But in my cranky moments, as much as I would like to be triumphant with finishing a problem or a puzzle, I couldn’t. I just pack everything and sleep (even though it isn’t allowed). God, these noisy kids.
I get easily distracted with my fangirl subjects (Minho will kill me for calling them “subjects”). This affects me more when I’m researching over the Internet. I pull up Google, Facebook, Twitter and sometimes Tumblr – which is a bad idea. Facebook isn’t that distracting (I have trained myself to ignore those selfies); I go to my Mentions page first before scrolling through my timeline so Twitter isn’t so bad either. It’s Tumblr that ruins my life – it’s like a butter that I know would give me too much cholesterol yet it makes everything taste heavenly. Tumblr is where everything awesome, beautiful, handsome, blown-up-ovaries-worthy beings dwell. Even works of arts and book fandoms can be a distraction – I’m so
helpless. You see your Dashboard and then,
bam, your eyes pop and your ovaries/hormones threaten to burst out of their shells. And then I forget what I was supposed to be researching for because that photo of Paul Wesley glued me to my spot. God, these eternally beautiful creatures and arts.
I get easily distracted when I’m in Goodreads. Before, I only go to Goodreads to update my reading status and maybe check out my Recommendations box, but lately I’ve frequented myself with Group/Book Discussions. One of my frustrations in life is not having friends who actually read like their life depended on it. The only friends I know that read can only be contacted online. I want/need someone who I can talk to about how awesome Six is and how fucked up the Gladers’ lives are. Nobody in my school relates. I talk to them about this and that, and then they’d just look at me like I’m spitting out pages of the encyclopedia – and the stories I share aren’t even
that complicated! So to make up for this loss, I got on these discussions, and wow, it’s the best thing ever! Goodreads people are like the Einstein of the 21st century. I don’t even know their real names but I feel like I love them already. God, these smart bookworms.
I get easily distracted with my Book Feels. The emotions I feel while and after reading a novel are now officially called “Book Feels” (dang, I’m so creative). When I’m in class and the professor is discussing something, my mind wanders off to the book I’ve just read. Will Character A be okay? Will Character B choose Guy A, or will it be Guy B? What will Character C prefer for dessert: chocolate fondue or strawberry shortcake? Sometimes I think these authors have formed a
conspiracy to ruin every reader’s life. Or maybe it’s just us – or
me, for heaven’s sake. I can’t disassociate myself with the magical or 1980s fictional world. I always have this bubble wherein every book character exists; I act like the Herondales are real and that Idris is just around the corner. And then I cry a lot when a character dies or when the dialogues are piercingly heartbreaking – okay, also when I get jealous of their awesome romantic life. I have come to realize that I am miserable. God, these authors.
There are still lots of things and phenomena that decreases my attention span. But right now my hunger is distracting me, so maybe a 2.0 will come? (As if I haven’t been annoying enough.)
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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