I’m positively reminiscing back to the time when I lived in a slum house, renting a 9 m^2 room from a crime lord. I looked homeless, and legally speaking, I was homeless, since I wasn’t allowed tk register my address.

It was a fun time. I was in the first year of my bachelor. I was young. I tried things. I even had hope! Crazy isn’t it that my current standard of novelty is to change my walking route or ride a bike. I used to ride my bike between cities back then! Now I touch the poor thing once every 2 months.

Also, funnily enough, I dressed more girly back then. I even experimented with makeup.

Now, I think about how few friends I truly have left. I only have 2 people I talk to on an occasional basis. Did you know, I can count the average number of sentences I speak per week on my hands?

And do you know why that piece of my soul died? It’s because after I ran away from the crime lord, the only place I could find a room in is about 3 hours by train (there are many complications involved in why it takes me that long). I’m completely isolated from other people. I spoke 2 sentences this whole week to another person! And it was a question to a professor.

I am quite literally a displaced proletariat migrant worker student. I am going into debt in order to make myself more useful to master. I am a dog that plays tricks for the master, and then I give the master a treat if I do it right. And of course I have to do it right, cause if I don’t, I get thrown away.

Perhaps it is precisely because I live the life of such a miserable dog that I also behave like one. Materialism etc bottom text. You know the drill.