The end of February. The last week of my vacation. I put the chicken to boil and prepare the ingredients for the further process of creating my soup. There is no one at home, and who can be in it when you live alone. My aunt couldn't come again.
In my free time, I prefer to cook or wash dishes, most often one thing follows the other.
When I occupy myself with one of these activities, I completely immerse myself in my thoughts, as if my very existence is moving into some kind of extraterrestrial universe, comprehended only by my consciousness. While my mind is immersed in the prolonged melancholy of my thoughts, my whole body remains in automatic motion, on the mechanism set by my brain: put all the dirty dishes in the sink, open the water, wash the dishes, rinse, wipe and put in its place. And so on in a circle.
Anything comes into the mind carried away into another space. It's like you're starting to feel a space that only you can control.
Sometimes I get so lost in myself that I don't notice the electronic calls or the busy city noise seeping through the open balcony door. Everything remains beyond the echo I can achieve.
Holidays. Exactly. I hadn't noticed how quickly my vacation had passed. It would seem that yesterday the teachers left all sorts of wishes for the holidays, after a short period of study, but, surprisingly, especially painful. Although. Somehow it passed quickly in general.
I remember before the start of the school year, I made a promise to myself that I would finally start studying hard for a better future. How quickly I gave up.
I'm not the first in my class, but I'm not the last in my academic performance either. It would be strange to be the last in a class with only 7 students, including me.
I wish I didn't waste my time, but it turns out that you don't even notice how fast time flies.
Due to the surprisingly fast passage of time, you start to forget about the really important things and not notice what is happening around you.
I wonder what else I've learned not to notice?
This thought occupied every nerve in my brain. I finished washing the dishes and immediately after that my mind came out of the origins of creating my own universe, and I, worried about something, suddenly looked around.
Nothing unusual.
The studio apartment of a poor student. An unremarkable bed stood in the left corner of the room, covered with some kind of dull green blanket with a white pillow. Next to the bed was a low wooden chest of drawers, on which stood an ordinary office lamp. Probably every single person has the same lonely chest of drawers, well, maybe? A small square TV on the completely opposite side of the bed stood on a small glass table, around which a couple of indoor plants were arranged. The whole room is scattered with various things, and the work table was filled with books and work materials.
There was a pre-spring atmosphere in the room. The sun crept in bright rays through the transparent door, which turned the dust flying in the air into something charming.
No matter how sunny it is today, it is impossible to get used to the Parisian weather.
Today, the sun heats the earth with its warm rays, enveloping every particle of the earth with them, and tomorrow the rain will pour for hours on end, soaking all kinds of land, as if the sun burned the earth for a week and collected steam into clouds, which is why it's time to pay for good weather and mood.
On the table I found a book by Haruki Murakami that I had read a long time ago, Kafka on the Shore. It feels strange. I can't remember how long she's been lying here. I suddenly wanted to reread it. But unfortunately, there was a lot to do.
We should start preparing for the exams...