Yaking

And now, I'm wondering why my life is getting more and more boring each day. Well for me, that is. I do the same shit every single week: for weekdays, I get up at 5AM, and go to school and pretend to listen and understand whatever goes into my ears. As for weekends, I do nothing but laze around and catalyze my fat reactions by eating and eating and eating. No wonder I've been getting so beefy these days and people would stare at me like I'm friggin sasquatch or something. Run for your lives, people. Gape at me more and I'll eat you all alive.

I'm also terribly sorry if I haven't been updating this crap of an online journal that often anymore. It seems that my life is just really meaningless now, and I have to do something fun and exciting again if I want this blog to keep its spot in the information superhighway. Let's see now, what do I have in mind..

What's that?

Nothing?

Nothing in Lorainne's mind? 

Well that's something strange. I don't remember being this random ever before. 

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My speech communication subject is, surprisingly, killing me. As obvious that it may seem to be to my classmates that I am weirdly proficient in this subject, I am seriously not. Back in high school, I hated impromptu speeches because they were so damn boring and talking to bored high school girls about recurring topics already defines hell. I don't think any of us enjoyed it except for those who are just plain good at delivering speeches. Man, they're just gifted.

And now that I'm in college and my audience comprises mainly of teenage boys who couldn't care less about whatever somebody blurts out in front, I'm preempting that I'll get a very low grade for this subject. For one, I tend to mix up my own ideas when I'm already standing in front of my audience. I cannot organize them into a single flow right at the moment so when my mouth starts to babble, it babbles about nothing but jargon. I don't even know why people should listen to me when I talk, because I speak gibberish so fluently, you would really think that gibberish is really a language on its own.

Another matter would be my hardcore insecurity. I'll be of legal age by the end of the summer of this year, and for sure, my inferiority complex is still at its peak. It may not be all too obvious when you're with me because I don't tackle about my self-hesitancies (whether it may be of physical, mental, or emotional) right smack in your face, but that place in the back of my mind would always hit me like a freakin' pendulum. I am just too paranoid of what people would think of me as I speak in front of them. Is my stomach fat bulging out? Oh God is my baby hair sticking out again? Where the frigging fuck is my orange clip? Omigod I mispronounced that word! My future is definitely ruined! 

To make things worse, I can't afford to have a low grade in this class. For my two previous English subjects, I got a 4.0. So now you can definitely just imagine my dad's austere surprise when I get a 2.5, or even a 3 for this subject. He'll probably ask me how the hell did I just nail ENGLCOM and ENGLRES effortlessly and forget about the easiest subject ever, SPEECOM. 

Well, I'm sorry. What I know is I'm not oozing with confidence; something that will probably pull my inner public speaker out of my fat thighs and save me from getting a low grade in speech communications. It just so happens that I'm idealistic and talkative when I'm around people, not in front of them.

For those of you who are about to beg to differ, give me a life.