You know those times when you're just thinking to yourself, conversing with the back of your head about what you thought about last night's movie, or this morning's breakfast? Rhetorical questions, are they not? And of course, there are the deeper things that you ask yourself about like the relationships in your life and just life in general.

I hoarded myself with rhetorical questions today, lots of them. I asked myself important questions about my presence in Sydney. I asked myself what I was doing in Sydney, my purpose. I asked myself whether it would be a waste if I don't do well in the HSC and in the end don't get into the university course of my choice. I asked myself if giving up now is the right option. I asked myself if there's enough time to turn the tables, to make my final year at school right.

I asked myself those questions in hope that I would change myself. Perhaps, if I asked enough questions like that I would feel motivated to act. Perhaps, if I kept asking the right questions I could find an answer to everything and it'll be all right.

Two weeks ago I felt studious, and motivated. I got on that train, and it felt great. Couple of days ago I hopped off for a breather, and the train left without me. Along with it, my belongings -- all of which represent health, self-control, confidence, consistency, motivation and others of the kind. The train is still moving, at a constant speed and I'm trying so hard to get back on my feet to run after it. I just can't find the motivation to get moving again.

I really hate this. I really do. I'm having trouble with my mother and sister. I don't talk to my sister and I refuse to even care about her (why should I when she makes it clear that she doesn't want anyone to be concerned for her). I've been hanging up midway through every conversation I've had with my mum for the past week, after she left Sydney. I just can't bare to listen to her. It stresses me out. I'm so tired, and it really sucks when your family don't know how the hell you feel. Sucks even more when you just can't communicate your feelings to your family because they don't understand.

Perhaps I'm just tired, and this whole entry's been a load of jack shit. I don't know. I'm going to brush my teeth, continue reading Wuthering Heights and hope that tomorrow will be a new beginning.

Cheers.

& turned on the lights; 19:00