Every column in newspaper reads almost the same. Political freaks taking over the headlines. Like I care. But somehow, today I do. The dangers of red have come into action and they call it "peaceful" To Hell with your peace, if peace means absence of weapons we're talking about completely different things. My ephemeral agitation over the political crisis makes me babble against every move they take. Done with newspaper, done with babbling. I cant see how can I help it right now. So back to my own life with my own pieces of news.
I want it to be a fruitful day unlike yesterday, I keep saying to myself. And picture this, seated on my study table I have my face rested on my palms staring at the walls. But they won't produce me fruits,no. I know it as well as you do. But then again, knowing and doing are completely different things. Enough with staring and stumbling upon stupid thoughts. Chemistry, it is, Chemistry for now. Yeah. Good job, whichever side of me it is that took to taking authority over the situation. I love conversions. So I take the chemistry journey read and reread the same lines out of concentration. Chemistry, chemistry, chemistry.
In the end of the day, my exercise book is not all about chemistry though. I turn over the pages to find a poem in between reactions, a few stupid lines I'd meant to txt a friend, squeezed in the edge of a page, a few contemptuous expressions against myself every here and there.
My thoughts over my actual priorities again. Not a fruitful day, I declare. Tomorrow, as I wake up I'll have my analysis over my disgruntlements diluted. A new day with not new thoughts but new commitments, I want it to be,I promise myself. But I can see my stubborn thinking taking distorted shapes in what you call a dream, with promises of aftermaths again. Frustrated, I forget to wish myself Good night again.