Today I suddenly remembered that when I was nine years old I wrote a little "book" that consisted of three pages or so called "Guidebook: on the way to happiness". I think it would be interesting to find it know and see what I have written. I think I know where that book might be.
I felt somewhat inspired today. Inspired to create something, not knowing what to create. I took one of my notebooks that I keep; something you would call a diary. It basically consists of sketches, random thoughts in Russian and English, ideas that come to my mind randomly and other things that can only be understood by me. I've only filled ten or so pages of that notebook even though I had it since this summer. The one thing I like to do is read some of the things I have written in the past. (I guess I'm just really full of myself.) The first couple of pages of my notebook consisted of writing I couldn't even read and explainable doodles. As I tried reading those I realised that if those where ever showed to a psychiatrist I would probably be diagnosed as insane. They were written by a different person and not me. I would never want to show the things I wrote to anyone. Maybe I should just burn that book just like I burned the diary I had this summer.
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