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I woke up an hour ago, seven in the evening. I slept all day. This afternoon, I tried to read something but I couldn't focus on the lines under my eyes. Somehow I knew I was in trouble, that I was about to vent some despair and shed some tears. I decided it would be best to go to sleep a bit more.
I had a sort of nightmare (daymare would be more suitable) and I woke up insecure and alone.
I am writing my diary with my black pen again. The pen is leaking turning my fingers black, but I don't care about some dirty fingers. Everything within me feels dark today so I see no reason for my fingers to escape the current trend. It's just temporary, I tell myself; all this distress will be blown away one day. Maybe tomorrow. I'm glad I'm using my pen again to write. My handwriting is made for real ink, not ballpoint writing which always looks so aggressive when I later look at it (disregarding the undoubtedly sweetening content). I just felt a stab through my heart, my face twitched and I feel crippled. The skin thing on my left middle finger is still acting quite weird; it's showing some signs of improvement but also some signs of it becoming worse. I torture myself by holding it against the fan of my laptop; for some reason it really hurts when I do that. The rest of my skin is still soft, places on my body previously unaware of sunlight are beginning to show slight signs of tanning. Not too much though.
Yesterday we were drunk on Australian champagne, today I am addicted to orange juice and Nutella. Tomorrow I will be a reading addict. One has to balance between addictions.
I'm going to drink some juice now.
I'm still waiting for tomorrow.
I had a sort of nightmare (daymare would be more suitable) and I woke up insecure and alone.
I am writing my diary with my black pen again. The pen is leaking turning my fingers black, but I don't care about some dirty fingers. Everything within me feels dark today so I see no reason for my fingers to escape the current trend. It's just temporary, I tell myself; all this distress will be blown away one day. Maybe tomorrow. I'm glad I'm using my pen again to write. My handwriting is made for real ink, not ballpoint writing which always looks so aggressive when I later look at it (disregarding the undoubtedly sweetening content). I just felt a stab through my heart, my face twitched and I feel crippled. The skin thing on my left middle finger is still acting quite weird; it's showing some signs of improvement but also some signs of it becoming worse. I torture myself by holding it against the fan of my laptop; for some reason it really hurts when I do that. The rest of my skin is still soft, places on my body previously unaware of sunlight are beginning to show slight signs of tanning. Not too much though.
Yesterday we were drunk on Australian champagne, today I am addicted to orange juice and Nutella. Tomorrow I will be a reading addict. One has to balance between addictions.
I'm going to drink some juice now.
I'm still waiting for tomorrow.
