Although I have the desire to climb the grid every day, and inspirations are springing up like mushrooms after a rain, I can't calm down and string them into words. Sadly, there are signs of memory decline recently. Those little literary cells have not yet matured and have been submerged among many companions who are busy thinking about eating and drinking.
In fact, if you really want to write about it, there is really nothing to write about.
Love? I have never experienced one since I was a child.
Fantasy? Please, what kind of theories about ghosts and gods can be written by people who hide in their houses all day long and dare not look outside? The few remaining terror cells in their brains have long been suppressed by their own bile.
Mystery detection? This is my favorite category to watch, but it's only for viewing other people's stuff. After watching it, I felt so much admiration and giggles that I forgot about it. I'm afraid if I see it again in the future, I'll still treat it as a new one.
Determined to police? I'm still better at being criticized by others, but every time I cry so hard that I'm heartbroken and still go out to laugh and play with my bad friends.
From this point of view, in addition to bloody violence, romantic fantasy, determination to police, and reasoning and investigation, since I have basically no motor nerves, it is difficult to imagine postures beyond what my body can do, so I automatically block martial arts.
Under this circumstance, I still worked hard to write the article "Dreaming", although I didn't have half the skills I had in high school, just to entertain myself. The last sentence is still the same:
Any similarity is purely coincidental.