Man, that extra day (and night) of rest this week was really good! I need more free time to stay as sane as I still am. Glad it's not too long until I can finally take a week off.

I woke up before my alarm. Not because I've slept enough. The times I have become lucid in a dream because I was able to blow myself too effortlessly is now three.

I'm still thinking about how and why I want to write things and publish personal things about my life in the first place when I'm actually a really secluded person who values privacy a huge lot. I like writing. But I never finished a book, (hardly even read book nowadays, )never published a short story because I never felt I've touched one up enough. I've started so many blogs on various social media platforms and elsewhere which I never gave enough attention and time to shape into what I had imagined them when I started. I have to accept imperfection more or it will continue this way. I actually felt like writing some sort of memoirs before. Not because I felt like people will want to read my story (well, maybe a bit, yes. But also because) I wanted to get my emotions out. But I didn't and it came just as I expected: I don't remember the pain of my first love quite like I felt it back then; there must have been at least a few things I experienced that I would have wanted to put in but that I don't remember 
anymore. I know it wouldn't be a perfect (re)presentation of my life experience. So why bother? So, I came to some realisations regarding the previously uncontious reasons of why I'm not writing seriously. It's a composition of reasons and a meddling of distracting thoughts. For many thoughts and memories it would be a huge effort to put them into the right words. This half of one of the reasons I came up with is the one that I declare responsible for letting me stop this entry here. I have to go to work toda.

Alcohol: none

Tobacco: None

Nicotine: heavy vaping, 0.5 mg/ml