Dost thou feel as such?

I wake up, I prepare for school, I take the bus, I attend lessons, I end school,
I take the bus and I walk the same route home.
The next day (except wednesday yay and weekends doubleyay), I do the same things.
Everyday, all the sights and sounds I take in invoke the strongest impulses in me to write.
And as usual, I forget.

The other day, I got back my english midterm paper.
I scored 38/100.
I was depressed the whole day thereafter.
I still am rather crest-fallen I guess.
Afterall, if i were to major in this then... I'm really just screwing this up right?
With today, I've gotten back all my papers. Both Bs, flippin freaken flyin mediocre.
I am rather crest-fallen, did I mention that already?
I can't tell, my vocabulary has been in this terrible state of stagnation lately and the words I speak are unfamiliar and stringed so awkwardly. It's like the quote from Plath, '...you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.'
Anyway, sorrow is sorrow however you phrase it.
It stings the heart and mind all the same, only in varying degrees and duration.

I didn't expect this part of me to change now, but at least I know I didn't say it would never happen.
I am actually falling into ecstasy with books. (Everybody clap your hands and wave them in the air, aren'tcha proud the kid has arrived!) Yes, I still agree that they are bluntly corrupt but I am now reaching out for them (only the good ones) regardless.
I remember V and I once came to this snappy conclusion that
you know you've grown/developed a little when your views change; I don't know if our theory rings true.

Speaking of which, and now I do remember: One of those things my mind has battled with is, whether people never change.
I believe this is a rhetoric almost all the time, I'm not sure, can this be a generalisation?
Anyhow, I haven't found the answer.
There are instances where I brush my teeth in the morning, staring at my reflection and I recognise the ritual of 13 odd years; when I still fervently hold on to my ideal that the moon is green and believe so convincingly that I am still the person I was 18 years ago.
Then, there are times when my perceptions differ, when I lose my beliefs in certain (most?) things and try to figure how so, earnestly mulling over my transitions in my very long life. Take for example, the fact that I am starting to read books now. If that is too superficial, then okay, how about the instance where I brush my teeth in the morning, staring at my reflection and I recognise and not recognise who I'm seeing at the same time?

While I continue musing over this for the next couple of bus rides or more, I shall share why I mentioned "long life".
It's quite simple actually.
As my bus travelled along the route to school, stopping directly under one of Clementi's overhead bridges (and my route passes by many), an insidious thought sneaked in. As I observed the bridge, paying attention to the engulfing flora and the traffic on it, I couldn't help but also imagined how many decades this stone structure has been up. Then I couldn't help again, but wonder if age, in addition to the constant rain and sun, would weaken the strength of the bridge. Like, duh I know architects, other urban physicists and specialists must have already taken into consideration the wearing out factor, but they definitely couldn't be that accurate nor could anyone foretell what might happen no?
So for a very serious moment or two while my bus was still resting under this precarious bridge, I became quite uncomfortable.

Similar thought processes with the same tragedies in end have filled my mind for too many a time.
Recurrent idea with other inanimate or animate objects and in other situations.
That is why I think death has always been in me subtly - consciously or unconsciously.
Sometimes, I don't think I am living as well.
Dost thou feel as such?
Maybe, the truth is, we grow up, the parts of us we think have changed have just died, and slowly, we don't feel it, but we lose a little of ourselves with each passing year. If we think this way, then final death wouldn't seem so intimidating afterall. We merely return to who we once belonged to.


And I am nervous and anxious all this while waiting.

'The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple.'