When the cat saw that I hadn't closed the door, he slipped in, walked around, jumped on my belly, and I scratched him and talked to him.

I said Mimi, I feel like a general pulled out of a short pile, getting up from the mud and about to lead the troops to the battlefield, but the level of communication is not as good as selling dumplings on the street.

I originally wanted to say that he sells straw sandals, but Liu Bei has also sold them, so maybe the professionalism of this industry is higher than I imagined.

However, this cat is a foreign cat, and Liu Bei should not be known.

I illiteracy for cats and show them the furnishings in my room. I said look, that's a printer, that's a piggy bank. I have a lot of pain in my heart. I don't know if it's unique to me. I don't think so. But there are some things that may not be so drastic. I think part of my particular pain comes from the fact that I didn't grow up before. I spent so much emotion in the imaginary world that I didn't know how to properly conduct basic interpersonal interactions, so I forced myself into an environment that required professional mediation. In this world, I can't even shake hands. The actor I auditioned on Saturday, he reached out and I hurriedly shook it, and my nails buckled into his hand. The actor interviewed today wore a white suit, was personable, and neat enough to shoot a fashion cover directly. I wore my hair tied up and the chest of my T-shirt had "Cat Slave" printed on it. When she reached out to me at the elevator entrance, I still had a pen in my hand. I didn't know where to put it, so I hesitated, so I grabbed the pen and shook it with her.

Really, Mimi, I told the cat, I didn't even learn how to shake my hand.

The cat came over to me and looked very happy. I said Mimi, it's good to be a cat, and you don't have to dream. People are different, people have to go through a lot of painful things, although after a moment, they don't look so bad. Our lives are like hastily woven brocades, which immediately begin to evaporate moisture and fade from the loom. It should be good, but when you think about it, it doesn't sound like a good thing. Are we living in the pain of walking, or are we living in a thin past? If the feelings of the passage of time were less intense from moment to moment, would they still mean the same thing to us?

After the interview, I wrote an email to the actor and hesitated for half an hour, I want to say that your hair looks too fashionable for the role, do you mind dyeing it back to black before filming starts.

After thinking about it, I changed it again, do you mind not dyeing it again before shooting?

Once I went out to take out the garbage without a key, the iron door automatically locked, and my roommate was upstairs. I wondered if I should call my roommate to get the keys. But I didn't. I took off my shoes and blocked the iron gate and went barefoot to take out the trash. I'm such a personality that I don't mind walking barefoot on a stone if I can solve problems by having less contact with people. But I'm now urging people to do things for me every half hour. Is there any way to dye your hair temporarily without decolorizing it in water? Because there's a scene where I want to rain, st, I told you I had to rain.

The cat stomped on my ribs, so that it didn't break anything. I looked for a short film on YouTube to watch, and there was a story of a broken family relationship, and I got an unexpectedly tender ending. A hilarious-looking beginning, surprisingly gloomy and pathetic at the core. It's always nice to know that there are a lot of different kinds of people in the world who tell all kinds of stories. You know they live in all sorts of relationships. It's always magical. It makes me feel so much better.

The cat meowed, and I rubbed his belly vigorously. I said meow, you're like a tape recorder, and if you can record, you'll have my black history in your stomach. You listen to the rumble outside the window, the sound of airplanes flying by. Every time I hear it, I think of the scene in Fahrenheit 451, where bombs fly over the city as people carnival on electronic screens. Civilization exploded to the point of wreckage. But I am reminded of a memory that Azar Nafisi wrote: when the city was bombed, she read by candlelight to overcome her fears. What is the psychology of the school to put the production and the play in one project? This is really murder without blood. Meow, you made my bed full of hair, I think it's all under the covers.

The cat is gone. It's good. I slept. I slept. There's something to do tomorrow.