My room is littered with clean laundry that I just haven't had the time nor movitation to put away. My desk is rapidly approaching the depth of being six feet under. The inside of my blinds have yet to have seen sunlight in the last week. The cordless phone lies atop a pile of papers, out of batteries having been used once and then tossed to the side. A newspaper two-months old is yellowing on the windowsill.
Is there a method? Not always. Not now, that's for sure. But one thing that I can say, is that it's mine and no one else's.
...
My mother took my pulse today, and according to TCM standards, it's weak.
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