I'm tired.



Not exactly. I'm awake. Alert. But tired.



I've been meaning to blog regularly. And I have been writing. Honest!



But I lose the mood whenever I get home. My handwritten work, chucked aside.



Maybe it's the mess in my room. Dusty, insect-infested, a vomit of colors strewn about. Clothes I never use hang lethargically in my cupboard. A sweaty bed. How ugly to look at.



I hate my room.



I want out. I need to get out. I need to kick everything away. But, no. I can't. For the witch would screech down from the clouds. And she'll get nosy. And perform an act of flattery towards me. And I'll lose my drive again. Please. Let me be. I don't need to be patronized.



I sit here on this sticky chair in silence. It's 2am... I light up a stick. A regular signal; I'm heading to bed. My finger taps the mouse. I think... I wish... one day I could bring a friend into my room and not be ashamed.



But that's just a wish. I'll clean the room someday. Hopefully, with help.

No more dusty tables. No more dust balls on the floor. Aesthetic uniformity.



The witch is coming again. Remove her, please.