There is love in your body but you can't get it out, it gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth.

I hate not having anything proper to do 'cause even all those littlest things become such tasks when there's no routine in life. I still have to get two exams done before August 31st and here I am, sitting on facebook all day and wasting my sorry life away. I've been meaning to read my five social studies' books since the beginning of June but somehow I always manage to put that off because I have something more meaningless and brainless to do. The subjects of those books are actually pretty interesting, heterosexualisation in the Finnish society and such, but. No can do. Today I managed to read 100 pages from one book, though. Great, now there's only 23842738789893 pages to go. I'm never spending my summers studying ever again. I wish there was someone to kick my ass every now and then, I can't seem to be able to reach it on my own.

I've been thinking. After having several conversations with people, I've realised it's kinda sad that so many people think not being super-happy is the same thing as being unhappy. Can't happiness be just ... the lack of unhappiness? I mean, I get that it's easy to get all nostalgic and anxious when thinking about those rare moments in your life when you could've shitten rainbows and made love to the whole world, but those moments are usually very brief and only happen once in some bajillion years. I think I'm pretty happy - even though I'm really not that satisfied with my life. I don't think I have to be painfully in bubbly love and on top of the world to experience joy.