drifting away from my family, towards my foes

quiet judgment, judgment reserved.

reading a book called the god of small things by arundhati roy, for class. i don’t read for pleasure nearly at all anymore. probs ’cause the effect isn’t the same, the connect isn’t the same, in my mind.

yet this is a good book. it reminds me of poetry. it has a lot to do with the caste system and gender norms in india. it’s a rather dark book, but hey, i’m into it.

there’s this aching feeling in my mind of so many things forgotten. i lay awake at night and try to memorize the good thoughts i have. but by morning they’re gone. and i’m too lazy to write them down at the time, so it’s just a sad situation.

handed in my stupid paper. i hate every word of it. lol, ever get that way when you get too entrenched in a topic? every damn day, for me.

 

 

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