My life is really boring lately. Aside from the fact I've actually written the longest and the most difficult text in my life. But it's boring too for anyone but me, so.
J2 is still that thing that just can't leave my brain just be. I'm thinking the aliens might have a hand in this. What else can it be?
Actually I just want to say, that I read everything and everyone. It's just. Not my language, that's all.

When I'm writing...
It's like a small dark room with four walls and four corners. It's scary sometimes, but we all know there is nothing in the dark. But most of the time you feel cosy and comfortable. You know, that there is this steady floor underfoot and high ceiling that you don't see. This room is full of you and actually it's the only thing you need. But there is a time, when you understand, this room is all you have. The walls are rough, the floor are cold and you can reach every corner with your hand. That maybe scary, but it's not in fact. It's just it. Walls. And limits.

Am I talking nonsense? 'cause I think I am *lol*

I have NO sense of humor. It's frightening to live in the world with no sense of humor.
But at least it was fun to write. But catharsis didn't happen. But who need catharsis?! ))

When I was at school I read Jean-Paul Sartre "Nausea" and didn't like a word of it. Now I think that that book wasn't in time then. I just didn't know what this Nausea means and what it' like to feel it.
This post is actually not about something big or important. I'm just sitting here and thinking that I'm sick of Asiatic boys, that my friends are obsessed with. Really sick, I can't stand them. It's so funny, that irrational feeling of Nausea because of something as small as tree pictures of Asiatic boys.
And it's strange 'cause seven years ago I would have thought that it's dumb and really stupid. But now I'm quite used to this feeling. And it's always something this small.

Yay! Spell checking tells me "no spelling errors", but we all know even if there are no spelling error, there are always grammar error. It's a law.

There are writers that terrify me. But people who love them and worship them terrify me even more. To the point of cold sweat.
I'm starting to wonder in what world exactly do I live...

When I'm sick, I'm very talkative. And those around me are destined to suffer :-D
Especially now, 'cause now I'm very sick.

Today I planned to finish another HnG fic, that popped into my mind when I was reading tedious SQL-scripts at work. And realized one thing ('cause obviously I didn't finish it.)
It's very hard to work when you ought something to somebody. In this case I ought it to myself and even this is like unbearable pressure. I always beat myself up for quality, for slowness, for the lack of desire. [I wonder if "beat up" can be actually used here...hmmm...] So it's not a joy already, but a duty. And of course it's a very rare occasion when I manage to actually finish something. Strange indeed...
Mom always says: "be easier".