Story. “Photo Album”. 21-20.

The space snatched from the darkness by https://fwincasino.co.uk/games/ the excavator bucket of the table lamp, as always, gives off some vague shade of gray. Words slowly drip from the pen onto the sheet, swirling ornately across the snow-white paper. The tea has long since cooled down and is impossible to drink. At such moments, time pauses. It is impossible to distinguish between successive minutes, because each next one is an exact copy of the previous one, slipped from someone else’s pen and now rushing straight down to spoil the clean, snow-white sheet. Every second becomes a point and fits into an even row of existing ones. There is no beating, the line is even, as if the patient had died a long time ago, and it’s scary to turn off the equipment..
But behind the external calm and total immersion in the sleepy kingdom lies something orders of magnitude greater than any limits of calm – there, inside this hunched figure, a storm of Creativity is playing out. Myriads of tiny ideas and their verbal embodiments fight in his brain for the right to be embodied on paper, to escape from the pen and to be finally born. For this is incredible work – to carry an idea or thought within yourself and not to have an abortion in the middle of the term, thereby only staining the paper and wasting energy, but to wait for it to fully mature and only then perform a small miracle of translating the thought into a material word..
Let everything be exactly like this. At the beginning it’s better to have a lot of words, because closer to the end, and I know it, the words will run out. Today is the start of the last decade of my life. And even if these words seem pretentious to some or, on the contrary, childishly naive, I know that this is a fact.

20.

Have you ever had people around you look at you like you’re crazy?? As if you were trying to remove a sewer hatch with a shovel or, for example, licking a window glass on a bus. Something like a definite mental disorder, when people around you begin to fuss, sit further away, look sideways dismissively, and discuss something in a whisper with each other? At such moments, I try to turn away from the window and immerse myself in the music that is playing somewhere inside my head.
I actually don’t understand why this happens. This is probably some kind of mental disorder or some other damage somewhere in the brain. It’s quite possible that I’m simply paranoid, and all these chuckles, sidelong glances and so on – it’s… it’s not there. It has nothing to do with me and that’s all.
So here it is.
I’ll die in 9 years, and I still care about how I look like a husk. Although no, I just want to talk.
Nothing interesting has happened over the past year, so today I’ll write something boring, perhaps I’ll tell you where the idiotic idea of ​​dying in 9 years came from.
So, today I told Katya that in 9 years I will die. Definitely. And it won’t be suicide. She made big eyes and now I’m alone. It sucks, doesn’t it?? If such an idea comes to you, you definitely shouldn’t tell your girlfriend about it. Katya knew well that I was a stubborn person and if I drove something into my head, then the hell out of there you would then fish it out in order to extract it. My thoughts are not fish in an aquarium, these are corals at best. So without serious intervention nothing can be changed.
Okay, so gone, gone. But now free and casual sex has returned, sometimes in the most unexpected places and with the most unexpected girls.
Everything at work is so stable that it even makes you sick. Nothing has changed for 6 or 7 years there. Well, okay, but the work is not so bad and I get enough to feed myself. Yourself and your random neighbors.
Actually, after talking with Katya, I decided that for now I wouldn’t tell anyone anything else. Well, except for you, the magic piece of paper on which it will be printed. Keeping an electronic version of a note is stupid, uninteresting and, moreover, dangerous. There will always be some friend who manages to get into places where I haven’t invited anyone and don’t intend to invite anyone.
I’ll explain in a boring way what led to this idea:
I’m an experimenter. And I like the idea of ​​the Saw movie. But Jigsaw’s experiment is idiotic. Of course, I will start to fucking value my life when there is a gun or some other scary and terrible crap under my nose. I want to see how I will change over time. I’m interested in feeling it. This is self-conviction and nothing more. No snot, screams, screams. Besides, I have long ago lost all taste for life and now only the breath of death can blow away all the dust and dirt that has accumulated in me. Just like that. I hope that later I will understand what I wrote about.
And now to the boring stuff:
My status: Everything is fine. Absolutely OK.
My thoughts: OK.
Do you want to abandon: There is no. Everything is going the way it was supposed to go.