Maybe I am just writing sick.
I was skipping any writing and maybe my post box is now too full.
Or, judging by this post, I miss english. As strange as it may see and hear to a stranger's ears and eyes, I do, in spite of reading daily in english, miss english. My classes (I have normal english, conversations and grammar class) are totally useless for my - I have no match here, no worthy opponent I can speak to without restrictions. I am so desperate I downright flourish under attentive even if sometimes nonunderstunding gaze of my fellow reader friends - I have few opportunities to bloom into full maturity in the pronunciation and speaking field and I crave to grow so much.
Maybe I am just sick.
Feverish mind, purely scattered thoughts, snappy mood and short attention span. Not mentioning random coughing, unstoppable need for tissues, dizziness and weird sweating with feeling of cold. But I am a virgin by birth and thus take every matter regarding health too gravely.
Furthermore, I feel the strangest sense of growing up.
I thought I had quite a mild teenagerhood, actually turning shy and quiet in stead of bickering with any adult I see or attending wild parties. Now, I start to think my teenagerosity was only postponed. I am still closed up and anti-social but symptoms like petty arguments, defiance, unusual boredom in school and loose of respect for supposed decent role models ...
Depresion is for about a week now the most pressing issue.
Un or just fortunately I love depression. Mayhap I am just not too deep in the proverbial hole but that tiredness, uselessness, purposelessness ... it feel reall and I cling to it. I spoon with my depresion in bed, I walk with her, holding hands, I let her haunt me when I just sit or eat.
Reading ...
Reading is the best sort of mindlessness.
Really.
I don't think when I read and it must be definitely one of the reasons I read at all. I was often now realizing how abrupt was my change of mind about books. I never given them a great deal of thoughts, I do not remember reading and my enrapture for the first time but filling myself with words was a kind of oblivion I welcome with grin on my face and joy in heart. Better then alcohol, I
But Maybe - some people were not meant to be let read
For as I cling to the dark, weightfull feelings, I also like to be heartbroken and angry, going berserk, shattering windows in my mind and relishing in it. And still, as I kiss that shadowed side of me, I also am so so full of light.
I can't be angry for long.
I shy, even in mind, from swearing.
I look on the bright side, whether it is a person or a thing.
I can be patient when most people go mad or show aside my feeling for a purpose.
and
I consider buying eggs that are not free range the worst of my sins.
And maybe I should also mention that happiness.
Many people sought what is within their reach. Me? I am satisfied with my life. Truly and thoroughly. I like the bumps and highs, I enjoy solitude and philosophy, making a statement or defending classmate. I like getting my shoes dirty with mud and almost forgetting my friends birthday and wandering in the streets.
And of course, the happiness.
Many may think being happy is a great goal one ought to find by hard work or they just thought it a virtue or a wonder or just a thing. Me? I just feel happy. Not anywhere. Not everywhere. Not anytime. Not with anyone. But they struck me, as a lighining tend to do with a strom, at the most unexpected place and it is a feeling as tangible and fleeting, as solid as unreal, as a most vivid dream.
The end and I bid my farewells.
May peace be with you.
