Random picture goes with random post.
Today I start doing something I often abhor: writing diary. Maybe the time spent doing research on Kafka (not really doing a thorough research though, just reading a few pages of his personal writings) inspires me to do the same: writing, no, spilling my burdens onto the pages and see if 100 years later there’ll be someone, some student perhaps, do a research on these. Screaming or cursing is uncivil, inelegant and as I often despise people who do so, yet I sometimes feel the urge to just yell aloud. I can’t though and that’s why I’m writing. And since I decide to write diaries, I won’t mind anyone (if anyone) reading them.
Lately I’m always troubled with dreams. Though I don’t hate dreams, even nightmares, waking up after a dream makes me spent and exhausted; my heart beats so fast that if I were someone else, someone older, I would have died several times. Don’t know if it has anything to do with my respiratory problems. When will I be able to get it fixed?
My heart’s been problematic for how long I can’t remember. Maybe I’m paying the iron price for my abnormal lifestyle. Still it comes a little too soon that I expect. How old am I? 50?
Lately I’ve lost most of my appetite. Nothing really stirs my taste bud and I often try to avoid eating, only keeping a minimal amount of food to function. How I wish I don’t have to eat to stay alive.
It hurts to see your precious children which you have poured so much effort into are ignored. People can be ungrateful and even I was the same. Karma, anyone? Having too many Leos for my signs makes me hate being ignored the most. Hate me, loathe me but never ignore me. I’d rather be the biggest villain of the show than a nobody.
My utmost dilemma: despising those who whore attention why yearning to do just the same.
Anyway, something inside my head urges me to write while other things viciously eat away my inspiration. If I write now I only write shits. Shits will never be my works. Not now. Not yet.