"And believe me I am still alive.
I'm doing science and I'm still alive.
I feel fantastic and I'm still alive..."

Oh, sorry, I guess I exaggerated my feelings a little bit. Maybe I'm not as sad as I used to be, but I certainly don't feel fantastic. It would be ridiculous. I have to do many annoying things – most of which I was obliged to do many weeks ago, but I was too lazy or couldn't find enough time. Now I have to catch up on my work, but I'm tired as hell. Honestly, I don't know why; I sleep more and more (what a waste of time!) and I'm sleepy all day anyway. What am I, a freaking narcoleptic? I must definitely consult my doctor... which is another annoying thing I should do. Sweet Goddess, please kill me and put me out of misery...

Screw that, I'm not writing this to prove I'm still such a grumbling idiot. In fact, contrary to what may seem, my life – if I've got one – has greatly improved recently. I suppose I achieved almost everything I wished for and could achieve. Don't get me wrong, I'm not boasting about how wonderful I am (mostly because I'm not), I'm just saying I got much more than I expected and – perhaps – deserved. I'm going to study my dreamed-of specialization (though they probably will throw me out after first term), I made some money on my poetry and it's quite possible I'll soon get a pretty decent boyfriend. What else could I dream of?

Putting irony aside, I've still got some goals I try to pursue, of course. Without them life wouldn't be worth living, it'd be nothing more than vegetation. At least that's how it's supposed to be. Unfortunately recently it doesn't seem to work the way it should. The more I try to make my dreams come true the less use I see in all my effort. Maybe – just maybe – I would be able to become a respected lecturer or earn a living by writing; it's not easy, but not impossible either. I know it, but I can't convince myself it'd be profitable enough. I doubt it'd be able to bring me happiness and, well, I'm going to die anyway. So why work so hard?

Moreover, my greatest wish – the one I'm sure would make me much happier – just cannot be granted. Lets put it clearly: I'll never be with M. again, there is no hope. I betrayed him, my soul mate, I broke my word; this is unforgivable. He left me and I became the same as I had been before I met him, alone. The difference is I was happy with him, happy for the very first time in my life – and that's why I'm suffering so much now. We can't get back what we lost, but if he could forgive me, maybe I'd be able to forgive myself at last. Indeed, more than two years have passed since we saw each other for the last time and I'm still depressed.

Looks like I'm unable to refrain from complaining for more than five minutes. It's hard to believe, but this entry was supposed to be optimistic. That's the way I am: always trying to achieve happiness, never believing it's really possible. At least I'm being honest and trust me, this is much. In real life I'm a mean, deceiving bastard. I think no one will be surprised when I say I used to be quite the opposite: naïve, frank and warm; of course life (especially other people) taught me it was not very reasonable and, well, you know the rest of the story. It's not very unusual, isn't it? But I still find it sad and miss the boy I used to be. I guess he was happier than me.