it's like that all the time. ignoring the guilt that sneaked up upon me, that i was suppose to be an enthusiastic aki student devouring books from the archi section, i let myself wander into the literature section, and i borrowed some books, stopping myself at three. i can't ignore this pulse. old crinkled versions of balzac, woolf and george eliot. oh so sweet you know, i felt like i was at home, i felt so excited looking all the titles i almost danced. essay on urban topics due on fri, the literature books they sit here by my computer to motivate me to finish with the essay so i can read through the night.

these days less abstractions more narrative. but i must not let myself lose in the pace. i always lose the pace quickly. my mind is never grounded.

mock hyperventilating. strong urge to be at a starbucks abroad with my cafe americano reading reading reading. what is right? what is desirable? i am at the point of time, contemplating change, but am not sure whether to even trust myself that change is essential. or rather, what do i need to change? argh. symbolic death come quick so that i can rise out of the ashes knowing and being sure. what rubbish. we can never be sure. surely, this is nonsensical blabbering. oof.