I made two mistakes today. First, I shouldn’t have eaten dinner. Once I eat dinner, my mind will be confused. In order to keep my mind clear, I basically skip dinner every night. I just eat something after finishing writing. Today at noon

I couldn't bear to throw away the remaining rice, so I ate some, but my mind kept spinning.

Second, I have extremely high requirements for the creative environment, which must be dry and cold. It rained today, the air pressure was low, and the air conditioner was not cold. I was always in a state of irritability. At about ten o'clock, I took a look and found that I didn't know who had given it to me.

The air conditioner was adjusted to 25 degrees. Before, I was always at 22 degrees. I didn't feel comfortable at 22 degrees, but I had to feel cold. The air conditioner stopped cooling when it reached 25 degrees, and the wind blowing out had a musty smell.

Some time ago, centipedes kept appearing at home, and sometimes they even crawled onto the bed at night. I had no choice but to make a bunch of moth balls and throw them under the bed. It turned out that the camphor was poisonous and I almost lost it.

I was blinded by smoke. In order to repel insects, I bought some sandalwood perfume from the Road to Hades online. I had never used it before. There was a musty smell in my house tonight, so I sprayed a little. This spray completely stopped me.

Damn it, this bullshit sandalwood smells pungent and harsh in the eyes. It makes me even more irritated after smelling it. I can't calm down at all. I suppressed my irritability and pushed forward forcefully. As a result, the writing turned out to be jerky and far-fetched. Damn it, I won't write it anymore.

I don’t know whether it’s because I have a lot of problems or because I’ve been working hard for many years. Now that my soul is out of my body, it’s getting harder and harder to summon inspiration. It’s hot in the summer and I don’t dare to open the window. When I open the window, the hot air hits my face.

I have no inspiration at all, but I can’t do it without opening the window. Smoking in an air-conditioned room can choke people to death. Usually I finish writing with the window closed, and then I’m coughing repeatedly due to the smoke, and my eyes sting.

Everyone, go to bed. It’s getting cooler. I think I’ll be in better shape. The administrator reads the book reviews and will delete and ban all malicious slander. Don’t let me see it. I made two mistakes today. One was that I shouldn’t have had dinner.

Once I have dinner, my mind becomes confused. In order to keep my mind clear, I basically skip dinner every night. I just eat something after finishing writing. I was reluctant to throw away the remaining meal at noon today, so I ate some.

My mind has been confused.

Second, I have extremely high requirements for the creative environment, which must be dry and cold. It rained today, the air pressure was low, and the air conditioner was not cold. I was always in a state of irritability. At about ten o'clock, I took a look and found that I didn't know who had given it to me.

The air conditioner was adjusted to 25 degrees. Before, I was always at 22 degrees. I didn't feel comfortable at 22 degrees, but I had to feel cold. The air conditioner stopped cooling when it reached 25 degrees, and the wind blowing out had a musty smell.

Some time ago, centipedes kept appearing at home, and sometimes they even crawled onto the bed at night. I had no choice but to make a bunch of moth balls and throw them under the bed. It turned out that the camphor was poisonous and I almost lost it.

I was blinded by smoke. In order to repel insects, I bought some sandalwood perfume from the Road to Hades online. I had never used it before. There was a musty smell in my house tonight, so I sprayed a little. This spray completely stopped me.

Damn it, this bullshit sandalwood smells pungent and harsh in the eyes. It makes me even more irritated after smelling it. I can't calm down at all. I suppressed my irritability and pushed forward forcefully. As a result, the writing turned out to be jerky and far-fetched. Damn it, I won't write it anymore.

I don’t know whether it’s because I have a lot of problems or because I’ve been working hard for many years. Now that my soul is out of my body, it’s getting harder and harder to summon inspiration. It’s hot in the summer and I don’t dare to open the window. When I open the window, the hot air hits my face.

I have no inspiration at all, but I can’t do it without opening the window. Smoking in an air-conditioned room can choke people to death. Usually I finish writing with the window closed, and then I’m coughing repeatedly due to the smoke, and my eyes sting.
Chapter completed!