Ich habe trotz täglichen Blogposts keine Ahnung welcher Tag ist... Habe ich gestern geposted? Ich glaube schon.
ich hoffe.
Ich müsste jetzt bei 22k sein so ungefähr zumindest. Ich habe meinen Wordcount heute noch nicht hochgeladen. Also beeile ich mich besser mit dem Schreiben dieses Eintrags, damit mein WC vor Mitternacht eingelesen wird.
Aber die Foren sind so ablenken weil... *tränen in den Augen* Atom UND Ena grade mal da sind.
Ich bin müde und mein Kopf tut weh, aber ich werde jetzt noch nicht ins Bett gehen, auch wenn ich morgen um viertel vor neun Fahrstunde habe.
Grade fühle ich mich mal wieder superawkward and I don't know why.
Und ich denke und schreibe in einem seeeehr merkwürdigen Mix aus English und Deutsch.
Was irgendwie... verwirrend ist.
Grade habe ich auch sehr komisches Kopfkarusell. Fühlt sich lustig an.... ist aber wahrscheinlich eher ein Zeichen, dass ich schlafen gehen sollte.
Ich mag keinen Blog schreiben und lieber Phan schauen .... also höre ich hier und jetzt für heute auf....
Ich habe Ziel für morgen vergessen...
Meine MCs reden das erste mal miteinander.
Das will ichj seit 3 Tagen schreiben und bin dann doch zu faul und komme nicht so weit.
Also das das Ziel für morgen....
AUSZUG: der kind of creepy und kind of sad ist und nicht wirklich gut, aber das beste vom heutigen Zeug
It did not go quite that good. Okay it went rather horrible.
They shouted at him for taking stuff from the crime scene and told him that it meant nothing and then he shouted back and that made him lose his voice rather soon and then he turned around and walked back home.
He felt like someone was watching him but when he turned around he was alone on the street most times.
There were a few mothers with small children, or business man going to a meeting and a few jogger. But most of them did not even look in his direction or where never seen again after he turned around and spotted them.
It was nearly impossible that someone could have followed him.
When he got back home the creepy feeling vanished and he made pasta.
Pasta was good.
J’s favourite food was pasta.
Which probably did not make it bad but at least kind of sad.
Erik loved pasta as well.
Pasta was delicious. Yet it was pasta killed J. Well sort of.
Erik never ate the pasta he made that evening.
They shouted at him for taking stuff from the crime scene and told him that it meant nothing and then he shouted back and that made him lose his voice rather soon and then he turned around and walked back home.
He felt like someone was watching him but when he turned around he was alone on the street most times.
There were a few mothers with small children, or business man going to a meeting and a few jogger. But most of them did not even look in his direction or where never seen again after he turned around and spotted them.
It was nearly impossible that someone could have followed him.
When he got back home the creepy feeling vanished and he made pasta.
Pasta was good.
J’s favourite food was pasta.
Which probably did not make it bad but at least kind of sad.
Erik loved pasta as well.
Pasta was delicious. Yet it was pasta killed J. Well sort of.
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