Silly Love Stories

The high pitched giggles echoed in the morning dew, vibrations noticeable through winter-caressed grass. You decide you hate your life, as your combat boots crush the already dying vegetation. You hate everything you stand for, and you would much rather die than be trapped in a situation you can't get out of.

You want to be loved, but you close up your mind to everyone around you.

It's okay, though.

No one ever appreciates the effort, anyways. You don't have friends, and those who call themselves your friends are the most disgusting of the bunch. At least, that's what you've recently found out.

Korsgaard Did Not Believe In Human Innocence

Today, we're talking about moral obligation in debate. I should be extremely well-versed in this subject, but I have (sadly) been slacking. I mean, I have been reading, and educating myself in the works of Christine Korsgaard, Kantian philosopher. I am not her biggest fan for various reasons, only two of them aesthetic.

1. Korsgaard relies on the element of human selfishness. and the human ability to always put themselves before others.
2. The writing is pretentious, and even the most gifted college-educated student is unable to decipher her hieroglyphics.
3. I really need to be able to figure her out in order to make a powerpoint presentation for my debate class.

That said, I'm slacking. It's a sad, sad, sad thing.

Good Is Better Than Perfect

Sometimes I wonder whether or not I'm good enough for the teams I'm involved with. I'm sure I missed a comma, or two, in that past sentence.

The worry comes from the shining stars around me. They make me feel like an inadequate star, ready for supernova - one last, flashy finish away from oblivion.

I have a debate tournament tomorrow, what am I doing here?

Is She Ready Yet?

It is pretty late. I usually fall asleep at ten, because that's when I feel I can get enough sleep to get me past the day. It's eleven now, and I felt like I needed to make a blog.
This is my fourth blog. This might cause warning bells in your head to start screeching, to start screaming, - "Oh, Angie, what do you mean!?" - but this has been thought of.

The Depression of the Young Literati, now The Problem With Honesty, is going out of commission for a while, until I can learn to articulate my thoughts in a manner that I am not ashamed of.
However, I cannot deny my love for creating blogs. I find them quite entertaining, and rather useful for expressing thoughts, and whatnot.
This is it.

My name is Angie. I'm really not that fun to be with.

I don't know if this year will be fantastic, or brilliant, or filled with great wishes. Here's to surviving.