I came home, feeling rather drowsy despite the fact that it's a Friday; my spirit could only be lightened through the surreal dreams. I slept for hours.
It makes me cranky and grumpy when somebody brusquely opens my door, imposing the idea that I've got to wake up. I become imbued with the plaintive self-deprecation, tears started dropping. Many things I do, are without an explicit reason.
I sat down on the piano bench, still rattled with the ambivalence of the groundless melancholy and the supposed happiness. I cannot hear a note I play. Suddenly I become incogitant and imcompatible with my action. I have yet to cavil at the pieces that I'm playing, but I'm really not in the mood, I feel spaced out.
Rather than sitting there to waste my life, I've chosen to sit at my table and study English.
... and I've been bothered by the truth that most people around me are rattlebrained. Oh I feel so alone and depreciated.