The wholemeal bread was lying atop the microwave. I removed 2 slices from the loaf and held them between my lips so as to free my hands. Then I shook the limp loaf to join the top slice of bread, which I always skip, to the other slices that sport white fluffy sides. While my hands busied with that, my eyes scanned the counter for some peanut butter. The jar was propped against a selection of kitchen appliances and other condiments, and oh, the spread has expired since last year.

I couldn't put the 2 slices of bread back into the flimsy plastic wrap since they have been in my mouth, so I tried fix the situation by scouring the fridge for something else to complement the bread. Thinking that milk might not, for some reason, cut it, I opted for some green bean soup instead. Sometimes, the choices that I make are so bad that I cannot bring myself to explain them.

All the 'I's in this post seem so conspicuous. There's something wrong with me. I can't communicate.

I like this word.

I am no longer capable of long posts. This kind of troubles me. I want to be articulate but nowadays I can't get seem to get the right words out of my head. All my thoughts are jumbled. It's back to the whole 'rearrange the words to make a complete sentence' thing again.

Hello, Primary 4 English.

Oh, while reading about ontological anxiety and existentialism, I came across an article that explained why immortality isn't all that great. The article mentioned a phenomenon that we can probably relate to: As we grow older, time passes more quickly.

Yes, right? It had taken me forever to turn from a primary 3 kid to a primary 5 kid, but senior high had only lasted a fraction of a second. Okay, forgive the exaggeration, but you know what I mean right?

According to the article, that's because as we grow older, a unit of time represents less of our entire life, so we perceive it as having passed more quickly.

In another moment, I'd be 60, and I'd be a resentful old woman because 60 years' too short for me to have found and fulfilled my dream. 19 hadn't been enough.

My parents would be old. I would live in fear that any moment then, someone would pass away. Perhaps me.

Wait a minute, I already worry that.

My attempt at a long post stops here.

Bye.