Oh No! She's Cracking.

There's a voice [what voice?] ... uhh that's creepy. Sshh! Just listen.

There's this voice that keeps asking me WHY. Why what? or What why? I mean, what the hell is this why all about? It's a form of calling. [Oooh creepy. Really creepy].

Stop and shut hole. Let me talk. or write. Just listen. or read. Do not interrupt. It's rude to interrupt.

What am I doing here and Why am I here? It doesn't make sense. I keep doing the same things over and over again. When am I supposed to turn the page? Or are there any pages left at all?
I look at life like a book. The stages of life represent a chapter and within those chapters are significant [or insignificant] pages.

I am now writing my book. But I'm stuck. I think I lost a page -- the page that links the last to the next. I can always make up a page. Create a page according to my liking. But it's not the same. It wouldn't be the same, would it?

I think the last chapter ended where I turned of age. And then what? I don't know. That's why I am stuck. This voice keeps asking me. It's like a parrot trained with endless phrases -- not complete sentences, but just fragments of an idea.

I don't want to admit it. I bet none of you would want to admit it either. I am growing old. YEAH. There's nothing wrong with growing old ~~ as long as you've "grown up" before growing old. This voice asks me again: "have you really grown up" to be considered grown old?"

NO. I don't think so. I have yet so many things to do... so many things to reach... so many tasks to complete. Emotionally, I will never grow old, but I need to grow up. I need to draw a line between what's real and unreal; between what's doable and not doable.

But how? Do I even have to time to spare to think about it when I seem to always run out of time. I'm always in a rush. Again, why? I don't know. It's complicated. I just don't know.