a note to myself

when you open the door of your room, turn on the heater, step into the whole mess with plenty of works to do, books to read, things to be organized and dinner to be cooked, but find yourself just sit on the sofa doing nothing for the next half an hour, then you start to feel sorry for yourself.

because you just realize that your life isn't all that interesting. or comforting.

not when you can hear the "uh uh" panting over and over again clearly from the room next door.

not when your new foul-mouthed roommate keeps ranting about his shitty job and his used-to-be-happy life nonstop after you greet him "how's your day?" on your way to the kitchen.

or when you find your white shirts splattered with stains right after you take them out from the washing machine.

really, when you find the light outside is still gleaming brightly at one in the morning and shines through your window while you're trying to get some sleep,

and when you wake up the next morning humming a song you find a big fat bald stranger sleeping and snoring on the living room's couch,

then you would definitely feel sorry for yourself.

because you know that you've made the mistakes yourself. the big part of the problems is you. you chose to be like this. because you know you can change it but you just don't. for some lame reasons. invalids.

and you know, that when you keep listening to portishead and bjork and radiohead and supreme beings of leisure, it is not going to change the weather outside.

because the problem is you.

which makes you as the only person who can change everything.

and maybe, dear you, you can start by stop feeling sorry for yourself.