The fan is on. Books lie on my table, on my bed, on my chair, everywhere. It is a long time since I felt serious enough to read those. The exam approches nearer every second, but I don't have the heart to read all those books.
Life seems empty most of the time. It seems to be an eternal wait for some excitement. Yawns succeed yawns, tv shows no longer make me laugh or cry or even smile. I just go on living like dead wood. Is this life?
The things I want to buy never reach the stores. Silly mistakes are made all the time. I live as if I'm some kind of addict when I am not. I wonder how I would be if I were actually addicted to something.
Even depressions add beauty to life. A soft, sad touch or may be evn the harsh, violent tone. Not denying that joy is the most beautiful colour of all. Yet things of beauty are rare in the world.
What do you call a life without emotions? Where you get to know that another week of your precious life has gone by when your mother drags you to the Mass on Sunday mornings? When you fail to distinguish between mornings and afternoons and midnights? When you feel that your life is becoming dry in spite of the fact that you are young and optimistic?
I'd like to go on a tour. Or read a wonderful book. Or take a walk to the beach. To see the golden sunset. The roaring waves. To feel the angry, blowing wind. To live again.
And you still wonder if I'm lazy?
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