Ok, I admit the title is far more eye-catching.

Anyone familiar with my wacky ideas and immune to the curiosity is advised to stop here.

----------------------------------------------The Most Evil Cut-off Rule--------------------------------------------

I never claimed to be a writer, but I have been kind of involuntarily trying to make some sense of my mess, I mean, my writing.

One direct result is: I always tried to express something, something querulous , touching, anyway, feeling-radiating, and while this very something is based on nothing, so I had to finalize it into --- jocularity.

20 years have passed. I have grown up. I am moving forward. But, the past week was in chaos, some kind of catastrophic inner struggle. 

I knew, from the very beginning, I had no such thing like a particular g rand  target to pursue, but t o be frank , I do have some, some thinking. 

June, the last month of my third year in university. The first time, I clearly heard my languishing heart beat so reluctantly.

You are not belong to here. Free yourself up from those “grandeur” pursuits. You need a warrant for you future lucrative, remunerative job. One sturdiest and oldest reality is that a good student equals not a successful career.

Lure is always the hardest to resist. Messing around doesn’t even need an excuse. Playing truant seems justified, when homage paid to marks is so ramshackle.

So I fell. I filled my time with games, movies, and YY novels, poignant at first, and then insensible.

The feeling of entertaining sumptuously with time is so irresistible…

The impending end, what can I do with you?

I think, the answer is redundant.