"Don't kick my things when you're walking." "So what is it, 1ɔ_-_/ \ ! 1ɔ, if there's enough room to get through?"
"I'll just leave the box tidy again, right? I don't know what you're doing. Everywhere I go, I open boxes to tidy them up".
If I had any enthusiasm to keep writing, I've lost it. I feel like I'm living with constant tension. That's why I don't want to see mother when she finds out the truth.
I feel like nothing excites me anymore, really, in many aspects of life. I'd even dare to say I might give up on the protist illustration project.
I just want to sleep, that's all.
Today I went to lunch with mother, and she asked me for half a piece of meat, but my clumsy hands burned me, and it fell on the table. That was enough to earn me the insult of being weak and inept for the rest of the meal. I wish I could go alone.
I'm not particularly excited about going on a trip to see father after a long time. Why? Is that normal? Was it a way of ignoring the fact that he wasn't around for various reasons? Work? It's been vital; otherwise, I wouldn't be able to study. Unfortunately, it seems I've also lost sight of what it meant to have a dad. Now I'm going to see a stranger in another country.
I don't feel at peace, reader. Even sometimes, games... nothing is bringing me peace.
Closing my eyes when I sleep and embracing the darkness of the night's silence is my favorite pastime right now.
I'll try to write a bit more about the final project.
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