Man šodien bailes iet gulēt!
Tāda bezcerība pārņēmusi, jau atkal jūdzos.
Esmu tur, kur biju sākumā... Apjukums, sajukums, pajukums...
Šobrīd tik eksistēju- elpoju,ēdu, pīpēju... Bailes iet gulēt, lai vēl vairāk neiekristu rutīnā.

Izlasīju labu tekstu.
Maybe the Survivors' Club wasn't something you "earned," but simply what you
were born into when you came out of your mother's womb. Your heartbeat
put you on the roster and then the rest of it was just a question of
vocabulary: The nouns and verbs used to describe the events that rocked
your foundation and sent you flailing were not always the same as other
people's, but the random cruelties of disease and accident, and the malicious
focus of evil men and nasty deeds, and the heartbreak of loss with all its
stinging whips and rattling chains . . . at the core, it was all the same.
And there was no opt-out clause in the club's bylaws--unless you
offed yourself. [J.R.Ward]

Nez kādēļ katru dienu jācīnas par elpu, par savu vietu zem saules. Bet īstenībā no tā nav nekāda jēga.