1:26 PM, Saturday, Apr. 16, 2011
Over the past week of autumn break I have done absolutely nothing except organise all my history notes. And that took two hours tops. But doing just that scared the shit out of me. All the stress that I've pushed away and ignored came rushing back, threatening to spill over in tears. I wish I could cry it all out, but I'm not the kind to do that. I wish I could learn from it and start working diligently, but unfortunately I'm not that type either. I'm the person who ignores it all, pretends it doesn't exist, leaves it for my future self. I like to run away.
Yesterday or the day before, I played the piano for the first time in ages. My fingers were so stiff, and I could hardly play as well as I did two years ago, but it was fun. I like how time flies on the piano. Time flies doing anything really, but on the piano, it doesn't feel like I'm wasting any. Instead of being obsessed with spending my time wisely to try to finish everything, on the piano, it's as if I can forget time and everything, because all I have is this song in front of me on my fingers. And so I love it how I can spend hours playing and not feel tired at all. I wish I could play the guitar like that too, but I'm too afraid to. Softened fingertips, and lack of conscientiousness.
I'm so tired.
I daydream a lot. I don't have dreams of things I wish on and want. But I have daydreams which I wistfully linger on. Recently, I imagine myself in a large house, with a large room for a library, shelves packed with books along the walls. The room is long, so walking along it would almost be like walking along a corridor of books. The corners are round, and I'll have all the books I've listed down to read because I want to read them but I'm too pathetically lazy to pick up and read. Books by author, books by title, books by cover colours, books by languages, children's books. All the loved books of my childhood, my favourite manga series, books by Haruki Murakami<33, Milan Kundera and Jack Kerouac. Hardcover books, and preferably all the same size, although that's quite impossible. I feel excited just thinking about it, of buying a book from the store, or having it arrive at my door, shelves and shelves of them. Can you imagine it?
And the thing is, I don't even read books. Not anymore.
I've had a recent interest in pictures which are black and white, of bold models, or obscure objects, amusing secrets, quiet smirks, things bordering on sick, but beautiful. Timeless. Classic. Am I condemning the present?
I am utterly convinced that the internet will break down one day. It'll explode because all those terabytes of useless data will overload the cables. In the future, it'll all break down, there will be lawsuits everywhere, but someone will just revamp it and there will be a new system run once more, which we'll just overrun and break down over and over again. I think this act of repeating the same mistakes again and again in a cycle through time like stupid people who are incapable of learning from our past actions is generally a western thing. But that's just an assumption.
Yeah I'm just really tired.