Goal of the day: 506 words. Written: 694.
That printer is driving me crazy. And today, hardly anyone is working...
Ghr.
AND WHY DO I FEEL SO STRANGE TODAY?
WHY?
WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I SHOULDN'T COMMUNICATE WITH YOU?
EVEN THOUGH I FELT SO GOOD DOING IT YESTERDAY?
WHY?
I feel lost.
I don't understand myself.
Is it good that I'm talking to you so much?
Am I writing to you so much?
Have I become so open to bloody censorship?
This is absurd.
It's nice to be open.
But so many people, so many books, articles and magazines have told me that it is not good to disclose everything.
That's wrong.
And I'm afraid myself - won't I get tired of talking to you afterwards?
Won't TAU get fed up?
Is it even possible, between two perfect people?
And if it's not possible, then if you get bored, I guess that means you're not right for each other?
Why am I not enjoying the moment?
Why am I counting the days?
[Stops.]
[He grabs the sheet of paper with the days on it and, as he thought he'd done an hour ago, lying in bed... He rips it up.]
Enough.
I don't want to count the days.
I don't want to wait.
I want to communicate now. Live. To be.
And damn that fucking printer.
God, how I hate noise!
AND WHY ARE LIBRARIES CLOSED? WHY?
I feel lost.
I'm scared.
[Inhales. Deeply.]
[Slowly, slowly exhales.]
[Inhales.]
[Exhales.]
It's better.
I'm still lost, but at least the fear is gone.
*Tun-tun-tun-tun-tun*, music in my ears.
There are drums, trumpets, pianos and heaps of other instruments.
And I sit and write.
I'm writing to a girl who doesn't know if she understands me.
Sometimes I don't understand myself, but that's not the point.
I'm writing to a girl who doesn't know if she understands me.
It's what I think and what I think about.
I don't know if I'm doing it right.
My fears inside me tell me that it's not good to tell the girls everything.
It's unmanly.
This is not serious.
It is too open.
Oh no, she'll see what I'm like!
Oh no, she will leave me!
Oh no, oh no!
[Mintyse church.]
Sorry again about that little voice. I got sucked in.
[Gathers the scraps of paper and piles them in a pile. Builds a tower.]
My fears tell me that it's wrong to tell the girls.
Especially those you admire.
Especially the way you admire them.
Especially how scared you are to tell them.
Especially the fear of losing them.
Especially how you can't live in waiting.
Especially how you need to remember to breathe in order to come back to the present moment and enjoy the environment you are in.
My fears say a lot.
And I don't know if I'm doing the right thing or not.
You know, I feel like I'm trying to overcome a challenge right now.
I must like this feeling of fear and anxiety. Masochistically.
Why?
Simple - it makes you live.
It makes you be.
It makes you remember in the future moments when you were afraid of something. And be happy because you overcame your fears.
I just wonder - is it good to overcome those fears?
Is it always a good thing?
[Laughs, again in his mind.]
Ha - there, I doubt whether doubt is good. Although I just said it is. I said I was a master of doubt!
*Fone starts playing Two Steps from Hell - 38th second of Argovia, action starts*
But you know, I'm still happy with my doubts.
I am also happy with what I am doing.
I have never tried to be open.
And I wonder - what will come of it?
Will I meet the love of my life and live with her in the land of rainbows and unicorns, where rivers of cocoa flow with banks of peanut butter?
Or will I be ground to a pulp by the man to whom I have said so much?
It's like a game of Va Banque, isn't it?
[Lost. Where did he finish? He switches the music track and tries to remember.]
But where did I end up?
Oh, you know, well, anyway - I won't read what I've written so far.
If I am already writing my thoughts - what I am thinking... Let it remain a stream of thoughts.
Not a tightly edited letter, article or poem.
I know there is a forest not far from my dormitory.
I'm going to go for a walk. I will experience what it holds. Is it big. Is it cold. Is it full of trees.
I'm going because I have a headache. From the noise. And my endless thoughts.
I'm going because I don't want to cry. I don't know what it is, but there is something in my eyes again, so if I wanted to, I could. I don't understand myself why it is happening NOW.
I'm going because I want you to read this when I'm no longer online.
Because I want you to write back.
Something.
And I guess to calm me down.
And to remind you not to think.
Remind me to enjoy the moment, just as I keep reminding you.
Remind you to be yourself. Remind you to be happy.
You would try to make sure that the call to be happy is not such that I argue "maybe I don't want to be!".
[Smiles. Mentally laughs.]
Gods, gods.
[He shakes his head, as if not believing himself.]
Sudie, [censored].
Answer.
[Epic score - Fight for What You Believe plays in the background, Danielius leaves the stage.]
Out of his mind,
Daniel