From 7: 00 this morning, I washed, ran, bathed and had breakfast. Together with the time spent on the road, it was already half past ten when I got to the library.
Lock my bike, take my temperature at the temperature measuring point at the door, and look at the register. I am seventeen. Some are gloomy, and there are many people who are more diligent than me. I must not be proud in the future.
After filling out the personal information form at 35.7℃ with crooked words, I went straight to the old place on the second floor-an ivory desk for two people, two big wooden benches painted with protective paint, and a jack on the wall, just to plug in the computer.
There is a window in the right corner of the table. At this moment, the sun is pouring, and 1/3 circular arc sofa bathes in it. I sit in this morning light, which can drive away the chill on the road and finish today's watch. I left an article yesterday, thanking the resurrection card.
On second thought, it's still too comfortable at home. Too much interference-snacks, videos, comfortable sofas, everything makes me lazy. This is a comforting wound. Too comfortable environment is like boiling frogs in warm water. Unconsciously, willpower was boiled away.
Mainly because I am not determined enough, I am determined to move to the library.
Coming back is influenced by Balzac's disillusionment. Before he became famous, De Artz spent most of his time in the library except for his humble family and poor life.
Of course, I dare not expect his reputation. I just admire his lifestyle. I long for a place where I can concentrate on my study and creation. I don't think there is a better choice than the library.