I can`t sleep. No, of cource I can, but not at the moment. At the moment something compitley different makes me sit on a half-broken chair and write theis note. Still, it`s not about "I feel myself bad", but about that I`m not belonged to this place, this city or maybie a country. Yes, I know there are lots of countrys that are even worse, but does it really matter to a person who suffer?
I can`t feel myself safe, I even cant feel myself sane, which is mabye worse. Too many "I"`s here for me. To much of thougts...
Some people tryes to pretend to be knowing bilingvo - which is mean that they call bilingvo me, which is of course nonsence. My knowledge of English takes start at my five years old. Real belingvo people learn it since the thirst touch of mother`s breast.
I ought to be somewhere else. I pretend to fit here, but when I was there I never got lost.
Something happened next to my brain. Somethyng good and a bit sceary. I started to see dreams in English. It was odd and plesant.
Now it`s like I`m starving. I feel myself incomplete without speaking or thinking in E. I`v ein`t got the faintest idea about how many books I`ve read in E. since then. Two? Six? Ten?
The thing is, I can`t live without an E. book for even a week. I start to feel starving.
And again. Am I sane if I write all this? This really doesn`t matter. What matters is - I know E. and don`t use it. And the worse part is - I feel ashamed to be knowing it.
It`s like be ashamed of wearing a women`s clothes and being a man: you do what you`re not born to. But you steel do it, because it`s the only way to feel comfortable.
And on the Nirvana radio - LOTR soundtrack plays at the time. Feels like I`m to start crying right now... But I should be strong, shouldn`t I?
There is only one way to get outside my anxious mind - it is to write, and to write hard, to improve myself like a writer at last. What else can I do?
Only cry.