In the future. Twenty-eight years old, I must be so proud, so rich, so successful, so proud.
But reality tells me. Thirteen-year-old girls get into car accidents, 25-year-old girls get cancer.
turn out to be. My way of survival is just a template for Ah Q's spiritual victory.
In this small county where I live, private cars are dispatched all over the city like mass props in Hollywood disaster blockbusters. As a weird girl, I wish I lived in the Wei and Jin Dynasties, with social woes behind me, so that I could just mess around with the place names, and don't care if tomorrow is the end of the world. My dear boyfriend is a despondent young artistic young man, leading a meager salary and dreaming of colorful dreams. I hang out with him and hang out with him day after day. Occasionally, I lean on his shoulder with the sunset on my back, which is as beautiful as an oil painting. I have no dreams, let alone ambitions.
Until one day he bought a hard-seat train ticket starting with K, carrying his picture book, his text, his camera, and his brain full of artistic germs, and left my small county town alone. "You have many hobbies, such as taking pictures and writing, but you have to understand that hobbies are not aspirations. You have to know who you are, where you belong, and you have to surpass at least some people." It's more like a sincere confession of a breakup.
I still eat instant noodles three times a day in the house, laugh at the baggage of soap operas, and occasionally go to the convenience store to buy a daily necessities, like a rice bug eating my parents’ hard-earned money, I don’t need time to get out of the breakup. On a scorching orange heat alarm afternoon, I traveled far away to be a pesky uninvited guest at my best friend's new house. Her boyfriend is a nagging athlete, and "you're not the first, just give me OUT" is his nerve-wracking motto. We occasionally talk about my ex-boyfriend, who is a miracle that our sisterhood friendship is still unbreakable after our love triangle.
Then on an ordinary afternoon, I became a wooden chair. The little civil servant in Kafka's "Metamorphosis" was attached to me in this way, and sooner or later I, who had to report to God, finally "surpassed some people". I DO NOT CARE.KFC's young couples were intimate under the lights, the office workers in the car were negotiating business, the old lady fell down by the gutter, and the old man walked under the shade of the trees at dusk. My eyes are kaleidoscopes, sweeping the world of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, blue and purple. I read Zhuangzi's "Xiaoyaoyou", and somehow I came to the no-man's land in the mountains and forests. I'm just a wooden chair, the laziest wooden chair. The world is in chaos, but I am happiest.
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