I'm not dead yet.

I've just spent an hour sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee, trying to stay awake. I was really quite tired and didn't want to move. So I thought about things and life and theories. 
It was nice, and for once I felt that everything made sense. I wondered whether anyone else had thought about the things I was thinking of ever before. Because someone should write them down and publish a book or a study about them so that everyone could have a chance to understand life and feel calm about it. 
I felt that if someone had asked me anything under the universe I would have known the answer. But no one asked. And now the moment has passed.

I'm in a cafe where I came to seek inspiration to write this stupid thing called dissertation which is making me really unhappy. Apparently it's making everyone really unhappy. It doesn't make sense why so many people keep wanting to write them. Perhaps it's one of these things where you have to suffer to know what happiness really is about. At the moment I feel that it's about not having a dissertation to write. But I could be wrong. I'll let you know in 2012.