kaprīzes

Šodien tāda iekšēja vilkme rakstīt daudz un dikti, bet godīgi sakot, ne es [s]nosaukumu[/s], ne vispār ko spējīga vairs latviski esmu uzrakstīt.
Ir drukāts divu nedēļu garumā angliski. Un lasīts tik daudz angliski, ka šķiet, ka esmu aizmirsusi, ko vispār nozīmē labskanība latviešu valodā. Esmu piemirsusi vispār, ko nozīmē latviski svešvārdi.
Moreover, my thought are flying faster in English. It's rather scarry to some extent; nevertheless, it's rather obvious. So obvious that I shouldn't even be surprised. However, I am. Yes, I am. Well. I wouldn't say that I'm proud of it; however, I still need some place where to express whatever kind of feelings, motions that lie deep inside of me at the moment. And they're quite ambigous at the moment. It's hard to separate a decent feeling, actually. Is this for real? Am I really transforming to Anglo-saxian kind of something without a heart, but with motion...Like a robot that actually is so deeply lost that even cannot seperate herself from the framework she is put into. Sad but true.
If one would have told me this would happen I would never ever allow myself to believe it some 4 years ago. But here I am. And here we are.
Nonsense trapted in ambigous perceptions of what is plausible and what is not.

Am I even here? Is this me?