Tempted on the verge of being crazy and not being crazy.

I'm not crazy today, I'm a little crazy, what it's like to be crazy. It is to stay out of the way, for something that no one cares about, that is, it does not exist. Something that only exists in one's own mind, only something that feels disgusting to oneself.

With bitter hatred.

Angry, helpless, angry, helpless

Who is not sober? Even I knew I was cocooning myself.

But the pain is not something you can stop knowing you're hurting. Ridiculous, my hands are burned, I know my hands are burned, I also know that other people's hands are not burned, even if there are other people's hands burned.

Whatever.

Besides, it's me who understands, oh, it turns out that my hand is burned, that's why I hurt so much. The moment you understand, your hand doesn't hurt?

You can only heal slowly! Spiritually, in the soul, it's the same.

Isn't madness a trait of a wounded soul?

What's so strange that even if it is a man's courage, it is also embodied in a sound soul.

I am grateful to these people who accompanied me in the trough, to my sister, to my brother, to the brother next door who taught me electrochemistry, to the sister I instigated to do organic and inorganic hybridization but did not succeed, to the sister who inexplicably came into my hands and followed me to make a bunch of failures, and to the horizontal bar area for Yao Shen who was willing to confide in me his sincerity.

I heard something unfortunate this morning. It dawned on me that if you felt that your life was your own, it would be too selfish. You have already become a part of others, and if you are gone, others will also have half a life.

But life is so funny, I'm like a clown.

Ugly is ugly, the road is getting farther and farther.

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