The AfterParty!

Well, well, well...

(ﾉ･_-)☆

Guess who came back after another round of abandonment. At least this time it felt less harsh. I almost forgot, what happened with the final project defense? Not much. It turned into a meeting where they gave me suggestions. Those mfs didn't approve it. They told me what I needed to change so they could approve it, although I saw unbelievable doubt on their faces. 

I think I will drop the project because the external supervisor gave me an ultimatum saying he no longer wanted to work on the topic, and that was that. I already saw the project as barely viable, so I started to search for emergency topics. It feels a bit humiliating, since I am the only one whose project was not approved. But nothing to do about it.

┬─┬ノ(ಠ_ಠノ)

I planned to say aggressive things in this post, but the urge to insult faded in real life. The atmosphere feels pleasant right now, although I don't know for sure because I sense my surroundings poorly and my bones might be soaking up the cold. "For heaven’s sake, you'll end up with arthritis, keratitis, and mastitis!" Biology fascinates until you explore the mechanisms behind your own suffering. Then it stops being funny.

I'm not a d4mn furry, I just share the feeling in the comment.

(ノ-_-)ノ ミ ┴┴

A shit project. Or rather, stvpid supervisors. They have nothing better to do, and they let other topics through with many comments, yet they reject mine even though it has only one comment this time. On top of that, the section defenses stress me out. Everyone feels strange to me.

╰(ɵ̥̥ ˑ̫ ɵ̥̥ ╰)

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ °

                       ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ °

                                              ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ °

                                                                 ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ °

                                                                                   ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ °

                                                                                                  ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ ° 

                                                                                                                  ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ ° 

                                                                                                                                  ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ °

                                                                                                                                                        ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ °

I think I should stop getting so excited about these kinds of interactions. Maybe she wasn't the best choice. It was a general conclusion, after sifting through many experiences that came from her. I must admit that her life has been interesting at times. And I think that's what attracted me to her.

Anyways, I'm going to publish the post about Komma caudata.

A tengeri sügér

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

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                                                                                              ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

                                                                                                                                          𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

But I know she has no feelings for me. Why do I keep treating her kindly? Why do I help her even though I know it will not spark anything in her? 

I suppose it's crude foolishness.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

After all.

 Geh.

🄰🄵🅃🄴🅁 🄰🄻🄻.

But why do these feelings for her return? 

She clearly doesn't fit my identity (*●艸●*)

Still, I like to think I could trust her. Yet everything will end next year. Maybe I'll tell her what I feel and then slip out of her life  ╮(╯ _╰ )╭

It sounds as unstable as it is tempting. I'll keep drawing protists. 

(｡・‧̫・｡).*＊♡

I liked it when she asked........... “Hey, what are you doing?”. It felt like a safe simulation of interest with no risk of exposure.

ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

I'm dying conceptually…

Actually, I think I'm already conceptually dead. I'm not the same person I used to be. I no longer have the same pride I once had, at least not the pride I could see in myself. Now I'm just trying to maintain a shadow of what I once was, but it simply doesn't make sense. I'm supposed to give a presentation whose deadline is tonight. 

... But I don't think I'll make it; I haven't even received a message from the organizers, if they even accepted the topic. And in the context of my final project being rejected… I'm experiencing a sustained emotional low. Suddenly, the little desire I had to do things has vanished. I think, what if I end up failing completely? What if I can never get back up, what if I can never achieve subjective glory? I see myself more in dark and impoverished settings, snooping around for whatever I can find.

I don't even feel like writing, you know? I don't feel like doing anything, just sleeping and hoping that somehow it will be an eternal rest without pain or much glory, simply a disappearance. But I just don't know why everything is going so against me.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

I don't want to... do anything.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

I don't want to... think about anything.

✡

Seriously. I wish I could take a break right now, but I'm trapped in a mandatory routine. The downsides of living with my mother in a small house where I can't create a mental refuge somewhere isolated, because unfortunately, the situation is so bad that I don't even have my own room. It's common for me to see myself as a failure; damn it, I should be independent by now. Sure, I'm still studying, but it's the end of my studies. And all I can do is overthink and want to rest, but I can't. The heat runs through my skin in patches; I don't like it because it gives a feeling of coolness, like a breeze, but it's just heat in disguise. And it makes me feel even stickier.

(ﾉ･_-)☆

I think I'm going to sneak off to bed for a bit. I just can't stand this lack of motivation anymore.

momentum humile

I must make contributions. 

I must do as much as I can. 

N̶̠̊̌̋͌͝ŏ̶̞͆́ ̶̠̏̃͂̕ȍ̷̡͍̳͠ṉ̷̻̑̉ë̴͉͜ ̷͙͑̆w̷̼̑̈́i̴̭͔̥͊̏͊ļ̴̟̘̪͓̾̌͝͝l̸̺͕͗͜ ̶̦̏̑̂͒̃m̸̳̮̹̤̲̅̑̋̚͝į̸̦̰̩̻̇̒͛s̴̭̖͊́̎s̴̰̭͎͘ ̵̙̜̗̏̕m̷̩̜͎̯̓́͑͐̇ě̸̗̳͐̌̓.̸͖͇̞͇͔̂͂̓͆̉ ̸̮̇͛̂̂ͅṈ̸͉̆̍͘ȍ̸͗̋ͅ ̴͚̯̞̓̇o̶̡̩̥̜͌̐̓͘n̵̮̝͇̻̎̓́̿ẻ̴̠̗̤̠͙̇͊̃͠ ̴͓̟͔̮̈́̋̅ͅẃ̵͍̜̭̰̪̇̑͝ï̴̺̖̇̃͑l̴̯̈́̑ĺ̵̡̛͕̔͘ ̸̢̬͍͈͔͆̈́ĉ̴̼̭̾͋ä̷̫̮͙͉̭́͝r̴̡̖̣͑͗͆̍ȅ̵̤̦ ̴̗̆͝f̷̰̳̖͓̻̿̐̿́ő̷̼̼͑̄̑͠ṛ̷̨͈̐̓̔͊ ̸͚̱̹́͑̈ṃ̸͙̞̖͙͆͋͗e̷͖͊ͅͅ,̶͙̹̜̀̂͐̐͜ͅ ̵͔̦̐̾a̸̛̲̙͙̜̓̏̓͐ć̷̢̛̙͙̯̜͗̋c̴̡̧̞̏̐͑̓ͅö̸͚͚́̈̑m̶͎̲̠̥̋̒͘p̷̡̝͉͌͒͘á̸̹͓ń̶͍̼̤̣y̸̡̡̪̆̄͆̈́̚ ̵̘̏m̵͕̝̞̣̯̀é̵̳͈̗̯̃͗̕̚,̵̗͇͝ ̸͍̖̭̈́͋̀̅́ó̷̯̫͍̹͙̿͝ṟ̷̞̬̞̘̾̅̐̈́̿ ̷͈̱̔c̶̡̦̬̅͑̾̏̚ͅỏ̴̦̥̅m̴̞̜̮̰͂͝ͅf̷̛̛̤͖͑ơ̴̧̗͕̊͊̆r̶̨͔̼̰̀̋̔t̸̙̳͌ ̴͚̳̻̏͆m̴̢̘̺̗̣̈̊̑́̅ȅ̵͚̪͖͛̆̋͝,̵̡͓͔̘̏̉̈́͘͝ ̶̗̪̻̭͒n̵̠̯̭͌͘o̷̡̞͙̭̘͊̏̋̐t̶̨̝̫̝̀ ̷̡̛̂̑͋ȩ̸̹̬̃̄̌͂v̷̤͗̊e̸͔̺̪̊͊̑̇͘ņ̵̼̜̟̤̔͋͝ ̶̙̝̯̄͒s̸̭̹̮̻͆̍̍̔t̴̢͖̰̄͂ǎ̴̲͔̰͔̤̎̃͘̕ỳ̸̨̢͎̜͎̿ ̶̢̥́͌͒b̷͙͉̪̻̂é̸̫̝̻̽̇s̸͓͆̋̇͠i̵͖͚̍̕d̴͖̽̽̿̕ȇ̷̳̩̱͈̬̾͘͝͝ ̶̝̝̍̍̓̃m̷͍̺̻͈̗̐̽e̶͕͙͍̍̊̏̇. 

That will be my only way to endure. My life is ending soon, and I have achieved nothing. 

I own nothing. 

I only carry emptiness and pain, and the moments of joy fade too quickly, never lasting long enough to offer real comfort. 

Yet they still keep me moving. 

I must contribute more. 

... More drawings, another text, something, A̶̡̧̨̨̡̨̢̨̡̨̡̛͖̱̥̼̹̜͚͎̜͔̞̻̜̦͕̭̘̩̼̥̹̯̥̼̭͍̦̤̺̟̟̲̺̘̬͍̗͔̤̮̲̱͕̦̪̪̺͖͓̟̘̖̼̲̮͚̘̖̺͓̤̯̲̞̞͔̘͓͉͉̗̜͔͇̘̦͍̪̤̹̙͚̪͇͇̩̙̰͈̻͓̗͇͕͔͙̼̫͔͖̩͚̦̹̯̱͇̦͔̖̲̲͋̎͂̏̌́͂̎̈́̓̒͐̒̇̊̒͊͆̒͆̓̏̊̋̓̌̕̚͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅN̶̢̨̧̡̨̧̡̧̡̛̤̣͉̳̹̦̼̗̙͇̳͖̗̯͇̰̹̪̻͍̹̤̣͖̪͚̩̲͇̩͖̹̱̞͍̣͍͈̱̟͈̤̫͚͔̙̲͇̻̝̣̭̙̤̠̮̤͈̖̩̮̱͖͇̠͉̭͇̼̘͋̀̔̀͌̾̑͑͌̋͗̄͑̒̋͑͌͊̀̉́̎̑̀̍̐̊̆͂̈̒̈́̀̍̾̍́͗̓͗̊͋͊̃̚͘͘͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅY̷̢̨̧̢̧̨̧̨̧̡̰͖̱̖̯̪̪̠̯̮̥̘̞̥̤̼̻̥͇̺̩̯̱̼͕̱̦͖͙̞̠̲̣̺̫̫̤̩͖̱̭̠̝̳̤̗̜̠͕̘͔͕̱̰̙̘̜̦͕͇̥̱̘̪̳̖͇̩̣͓̮̩̹̹͍̜͉͔̫̗̰̖̩̖̭̪͕̤̜͉͈̰͍̖̣͉̰͍̱̙̖͉͍̗̪̹̙̦̞̪̻̥̙͙̬̠̙͓̭͔̲̘̪̼̜͉͉̝̟̓̂͜͜͜͠ͅͅͅT̷̢̡̨̧̢̧̧̨̨̡̛͇̪̺̺͎̮̰̠̩͙̰̮̤̯͓̱̫̖̯̳͕͓̗̤͕͍̤͇̪̬̭̯̘̭̻̳͇̼̗͚̙̙̩̤̯̞͓̱̜̻͇͓̩͎͔͕͎̯̻̳̳̖̘̱̭̣͍͉̩̻͉̹̗̗̰̹̝̜̻̖͎͈͍̜̝̩͎͇̻̥̟̤̭̯̦̗͔͔̜̹̮̑́̐̆̍͌̏͂̈̀͊͋̀̆́͊͐̋̑̒͂̔̓̊̆̒̃̍͋̊̎̈́́̅̋̋̇́̇͂͐̄́̀͐̎̇͊̾̌̌̽̂̎̃̀͋́̓̆̉͗͌͘̕͜͝͠͝͝ͅͅH̷̡̢̧̢̡̧̡͍̺͔͔̻̼͍̳̪̗̮̩̠̳͖̞̗̖͓̙͖̤͙͙͕̲͓͔̦͇̪̰̜̥͖̬̣̼͙͍̠͉̙̻̬͉̫͊̇̀̔͑̍̑͛̆͛̂͆̍͘͠ͅͅȊ̷̛͔̜̰̩͕̗̝̰̬̹̩̗̪̫͎̼͚͇͔̲̙̳̘̖̻̱̲̰͇̳̟̜̜̪̗̮̩̯̔̽͒̈̏̽͆̈́̒̆͐̃͌̒̓͒͂͗̈́͗͗̈́̎̅́̅̌̈́̓̈́̓͆̎͂̍̋̋̄̍̈́͆̅͂͐̍̾͗̈́̎̆̍̒̀̇̾͊̋̋́͗̿̊̅̐̃̀͛́̓̅͗̀̅͘͘͘̚̕̚͜͜͜͝͠͝N̷̢̧̡̢̧̨̡̛̛̛̛̲͔͚̫͙̪̗̫͉̝̱̤̟̻̣̜͉͙̫̪̺̤̥̠͖̮̠͓͉̳̥̦͕̣͎̗̩̗̪̙͓͎̜̳̘̪̜̜̥͉̻̰̣̣͙͈̬͉̜̞̦̭̗̰̹͚̮͇̟͈͎̼̦̯̺̻͈̻̙̑͆̃̀̊̃̔̉̉͒͑̀̀̅̈́̏͛͛͗̃̍̍͐̊̉̊̀̋̈́̈́̔̇̎̿̅̋̂̎̓͛̋̆͛̔̽̊̔̇̏͐̾́̋͛͐͊̂́͆̆̐̍̈̇̉̈́̂͐̉̔̍̐̀́̈́̅̊̔̅̂̃̓̽̉̅͒̆͆͋̃́̈̈́͌̏̽̂͒͗̒̀̋̌͋̐̀̿͆͛̓̎̇̈́̚̕̕͘̚͘̚̕͘͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅĢ̸͎͙̬̰̝̼͉̫͔̣̠͍̪̰͈̘̭̫̩̞̫̩̬͎̞͍̗̣͙͎̖͆̈̑̓̅̅͑̄̃̊̏̄͛̊̄̈́̈͊͆̿̍̒̎̾͆̈̀̋̐̄͋̇̀̋͛͆̾̃̇̑̉̍̍̉̂̋́͂̏̐̾͂͛̆̈̍̓̓͐͗̈́͂̉̀͗̈̐́̋̈́̃̒̈̀̉͐̈́͌͊̓̃͋͛̔̕̕̕̕͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ ̵̡̡̧̧̢̢̨̛̛̻̰͕͕͈͉͍̰͙͙̰̣̳̼̖̺͕̹̻̤̦̠̜̫̱̜̝͎̩̫̲̭͔̹̻͖̜̯̙̺̟̥͕̗̬̻̣̥͎̭͎̻͎̤̳̣̥͍̠̰͈̳͔̺̱̙͎̝̘̘̱͈̙̼͕̝̱̫̥͖̝̲͙̩̻̞̲̻̟͖͉͎̠̲̺̣͔̘̺͈̩̺̩̬͔̻̜̼͚͓͓̤̟̜̥͈͆̿̓͒̑̽͗̇͆̔̃̓̏͑͑̈͋̎̎͑́̏́̔̏̈́̽͋̾̔̽̽͑̿̈͊̈̆̐̋̋͛̔̓̌̄̓́̊̅̃̾̀̌̾̌́͒̈́̋̎͂͗͛̊͐͐͆̔͐̈́̈́́͒̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅD̷̨̨̢̡̛̛̛̛̛̟̺̳̩̱̞̪̖͈̳̯̰̬̞̟̺͙͕̦͖̳̥̰͖̼̬̱̩̑̈̎̏͛̏̋̽͛̃͒̇̅̓̓̅̈̓͊͂̓̿̉̇̒̓̈̍̾̌̓̒̈͆̉̓̌̽͊̈̎͗̃̃̋́̊̐͗̀̈́̈́͂̇̿̒̏̆̇̀̾̈́͋̿̈́͑̈͌̀̿͑̀́̊͆̆̌̏̆̋̽̑͑̚̕͘͘̕͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅĄ̸̨̡̨͎̞̹͓̠̩͈͇̯̻̟̫͙̜͎̮̬̩̠̹̦̥͚̭̪̙̤͈̱̝̟̙̥͈̭̬̮̫̱͇̫͉͎̜̩̼͖̤̜͈͉̹̞͉̼̱̳̣̮̃̆͗̊̏͋̾͜͜͜M̶̨̢̧̨̡̢̢̢̛̛̻̩͖̗̣͕̠̭͈̼̯̹̻̗̖͖͉̰̞̟̘͇̯̟̼͔̗̭͕̞̜̳̱̻̣̠̈́̍̅̎̎̔̓̋̓̐̆̈́̑̑͊̂̀̃͌̍̆́͗̀̔̔͆̽̏̀̔͐͐̐͊͑̍́͑̑̐̇͗͗͗̒̎̓̌̂͌́̇̀́͆̌͂́͛̆͊̒̈́͋͆̌́͒̄̈̈́̔́́͋͋̍͑̓͛̃́͌̀͂̉̎̽̈́̓͛͛̏̆̆̎̑̚̕̕͘̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝N̶̡̨̡̧̡̨̨̨̨̧̢̢̧̝̬̭͚̭̩̞̣̲̻̞̖̲͍̱͈̩̫̜̬͎͙̠͕̰̖̲̦͖̝̰͖͖̭͍̻̤̩̬̫̗͈̼̹̗͔͎̜̳̳͖̖͕̺̣͔̳̤̤̜̭̟̙̹̝͔̪̰̥̳̥̱̠̮͈̙͎̮̤̯̪̬̬͔̼̰͚̹̳̆̄̃̒̂̓̌̑̃͂͒̏̐͆̐̃͘̕̚͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅ ̵̢̢̢̨̡̨̢̡̡̨̡̢̧̧̨̛̛̛͓̲͙̜̰͈̙̦̟̞̜̳̟͎̫̟̜̖̲̞͔͉̻̰͎̟͖͍̩̻̬͇̭̹̞̩͚̝̣̤̠̖̥̬̟̰̘̰̫͚̘͍̯̟̟͔̜̳̤̗͉̩͉̘̤̭̲͈̣̟̪̪̭̹͎̤̼̖͎̮̩͉̣͓͈̦̤̦̦̜̲͉̰̦̳͓̭̗̪̮̦̼̦̠̥̝͓̻̙͌̎̍͐̓̾̔̇͑̿̈́̈́̈̋̂̀̒̊̿̎̇̄͗̅̓̐͐͆͑̐͌͒́́̀̐̽́̾̽͒̂͒̔͗̈̏̊͊̔̉̿͘͘̚̚͝͠͝Ḯ̴̡̨̢̧͕͎̲̥̩͉̦̻͙͔̩̭͕̤̪͕̗͍͚̥̱̺̙͚̺̠͓̘̮͈͖̲̮̗͙̝͓̯̭̠̪̟̗̬̪̼͙͇̖̣͇̻̜̗̖̲̜͕̠͎̭̏͂̃̉̈́̒̀͌̃̂̈̐̌͑̀̾̓̋̍̔̃͌̊̆̕̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅT̵̨̢̨̨̢̡̨̡̡̡̛͉̖̺͇̪̗̘̙̠͔̪̞͚̳̣̱̝̳̟̣̠̖̼̗͕̗̠͔͓̪̼̗̙͇̦̥̻̠͔̣̱̠̹̲̲̦̹̟͖̹̫̠͚̱̼̱̙͚̝̝̙̩̥̣̗̎̉͂̑͑͐̑̌̐̉̈́̈́̇͌̈́͊̊̑̌͒̔͑͑̃̀̈̌̏̆̌̈͗̓͐̈́̏̍̏̇̎̎̽̈́̓̓̏̄̀̊̒͘͘̕͜͜͠͠ͅ. 

Let my cry not die. 

Damn this world.

I am DOTkamina.

a whore, whatever you want to call me, but I existed, I suffered, and I will die like everyone else. Still, I will have done something to avoid dying as just another person, or at least to ease that feeling. 

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I must do it before I fade completely.