i am not young, nor am i old.
i am right in the middle of life.
like, more fucked up than the rest, or just as fucked up as the rest.
other times, i think i am seriously fucked up.
who decides where to draw the line between crazy and not crazy?
i spoke to my cousin a lot when i spent that summer in Chicago. Doctors diagnosed her "schizophrenic".
Actually, what she spoke of, and what she said, was a lot closer to my own thoughts, than the usual daily chit-chat ever is. it does not touch me.
it all passes so damn quickly. am i here, am i following, do you follow, do you read me?
one day blurs and mixes into the next.
over, gone, finsihed.
heading, rapidly, in this fast-paced world towards death, and death only.
what do i do with those days that are passing?
am i busy making other plans while life is happening?
can one avoid becoming fucked up when thinking (too much) about these things?