there is this one thing i want to do.

i have lived with the desire for having it done for so long. months after months, days after days, it has grown on me like trees grown on soil and flowers grown on heat. here is a knot i have yet untied. i feel like a trapped animal in the zoo, living in a freedom so pretencious.

i am now twenty-three. soon i will be a year older. i wonder where and how to spend this coming birthday. i want to do it quietly. i am, indeed, afraid of my own birthday. i am afraid that twentry-four may not be a good year.

how do i make it good? what do I think?

the proceedures of thoughts give me headaches. i want a week or 10 days of vacation, hang out with some fun and cool people, have plenty of drinks, and write a lot about everything.

i want to write a lot about E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G.