Good morning. I am at my desk in school. It’s a quarter past nine and I’m having a coffee. Obviously I am not doing any work, as the existence of these lines can attest to. I am simply not in the mood. This “not in the mood to work” mood was one of the biggest contributors to my nervous breakdown last year. I let it eat into my paranoia; let it become something bigger than it ought to have been. Not again. My feet feel as though they are trapped in concrete. Last year, I tried to reason with the unreasonable. Force myself out of what I thought was a funk. I’m having none of that this time. I have a lackadaisical attitude to my job, so there. I am often bored, so there. I’d much rather be asleep, so there. I admit everything. I confess to all of the above. And I am not doing any work and not feeling bad about it. I didn’t dare to stop moving last year even though every part of me begged myself to. I was on a express train to a crash inevitable. A goner without even knowing it. Until I was so far gone I was crying by the side of a busy road. Today, I’m in the mood again. Fuck it all. I shall emerge from it when it happens. Ladida. I’m perfectly happy being so fucking goddamn lazzzzzzzzy.