Yes, I'm tired.

This feeling is very strange. In fact, before I go to bed every day, I still have time to play games or something. On weekends, I also go out for a walk, go shopping, and watch good movies.

But inexplicably, I just felt an unreasonable pressure.

I like to write, and I can make some money by writing. When I can support myself with my hobby, then I should be considered happy.

So why am I tired?

This unscientific.

Sometimes, I think about this question, but I can't get the answer. I will subconsciously insert myself into Tao novels, trying to escape reality, but I don't know what I am escaping from.

Countless times, Tingting said to me: "Are you unhappy?"

I would deny her without thinking.

"How is that possible? What reason do I have to be unhappy?"

That's right, I don't have any reason to be unhappy.

With this mentality, I spent a year, two years...but the anxiety in my heart has never been relieved. I was like a hypocritical but useless high school student, looking at my

I was anxious about my test scores, but when I picked up the book, I was at a loss. I didn't even know where to start.

And this kind of anxiety will be inexplicably amplified when a book comes to an end.

The more I write, the more anxious I become, and the more I write, the more anxious I become. In order to get rid of this anxiety, I uncontrollably want to reach the moment when the book is "completed" as quickly as possible, but I always feel a little unwilling to finish a book so easily.

It was like this, contradictory over and over again.

Initially, I thought this contradiction stemmed from the lack of an outline.

But when I finally had the outline of a book, I found that was not the case, because the outline did not relieve my anxiety.

It's always there, scratching at my heart, like a small file, bit by bit squeezing into the sensitive gaps in my prefrontal cortex, teasing me to the point where I can't feel stable at all times.

Why?

Why?

This is a question that I can't figure out. Maybe only the most powerful detective can give me the truth.

Coincidentally, the book I am writing is a detective novel. Maybe in the process of writing the detective, the clever guys in the book can give me answers.

"Go to bed when you are tired." Tingting told me.

"Okay." I said simply.

I don’t know since when, the conversations between me and her have become less and less. Every day, I am always immersed in work and writing, and there is no place for her in these two things. From another angle, even

It can be said that...she is no longer in my life.

For a married woman, if her husband treats her with this attitude, it will definitely cause a huge turmoil in the family.

But the strange thing is that Tingting didn't, with her strong character, strangely accept my neglect of her. On the contrary, she seemed to take care of my emotions intentionally or unintentionally, except when eating or sleeping.

He didn't talk to me much, he just looked at me quietly.

12 o'clock, I often fall asleep at this time.

Lying on the bed, the woman next to me didn't talk about anything. She just turned off the lights and it was quiet in the darkness.

I closed my eyes and started the inevitable part before going to bed every day, thinking wildly.

Most of these random thoughts have no nutrition. When you fall asleep, they will be thrown into the trash can of memory as your thoughts become silent. When you wake up the next day, you will never remember what you were thinking about before going to bed the day before.

What.

Faintly, I seemed to have entered a dream.

But I'm still awake, uh... whatever, maybe it's the dream that makes me think I'm awake, whatever.

In this dream, I opened the door of a bar and walked in.

There were some people at the door, gathered around tables and chairs, talking and laughing. I have seen this scene before, and I have been to this bar, but in my dream I seemed unwilling to recall it.

I just walked up to the bar and asked a bartender with flaming eyes to pour me a drink.

Next to me, there is a person sitting. This person is Zhou Yan.

I was not surprised at all that he was sitting in front of me. After all, it was in a dream.

"Hi, how are you doing?" I said hello. I know him very well because I have been writing his stories for the past few months.

"What else can I do? My world is ruined. I can only drink in this bar every day." Zhou Yan said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but as a novel, if it doesn't end up destroying the world or something, it's almost boring."

"That's right." Zhou Yan replied casually.

"So, besides drinking, what else do you do now? I mean, you can't just sit here and drink beer all day long."

Zhou Yan smiled: "Definitely not. I'm not that interested in wine...so when I have free time, I'm studying you."

"Study me?"

"Yes, in the early stages of the novel, I had an ideal and a puzzle. The ideal was that I wanted to become a member of Sherlock, and the puzzle was who Fatty Melon was. Now, my dream has come true, and the puzzle is also

Untied.

So I just randomly found a question worth thinking about to pass the time."

"So you started studying me?"

"Of course, I am your projection in the novel world. If I don't study you, why should I study those lunatics?" As he said that, he pointed to a small wine table nearby, where he saw a man with messy hair sitting there.

He shook his white coat desperately, and I smiled knowingly, understanding that he was afraid that the smell of cigarette smoke would remain on his white coat. Next to him, a not-so-looking man was sewing his own clothes with needle and thread.

For the corners of his mouth, he used black thread last time, but these days, he seems to be in love with red thread.

"So how's your research going?"

"There are still some things I don't understand, because I am just a projection of your obsession, and if I really want to study you thoroughly, I still need your help."

I nodded: "That makes sense. Now that I'm here, it's a rare opportunity. How about you act like a detective and start some reasoning about me."

"That's exactly what I mean." Zhou Yan said: "First of all, the puzzle that needs to be solved now is... you are obviously doing well, but why are you always unhappy."

"Yeah, I don't know. Sometimes I even feel that life has no meaning."

"After my reasoning and assumptions, I think... you have lost your dream."

"Hahaha." I smiled: "This reasoning is wrong, because I am working hard for my dream. My dream is to become a writer and be able to write some novels and make up some stories. Now I do it every day

When I am writing novels, although I am not worthy of the title of [writer], it is not to the point where I have 'lost my dream'."

However, Zhou Yan shook his head: "No, you don't understand. What I said is 'lost! Lost! Dream! Want!'. To put it more clearly, you don't even know what your dream is anymore.

, so what you have been working hard for is not a dream at all.”

"Ah?" I opened my mouth and said, "Stop making trouble. How old am I? I am a rational person. How can I still not know what my dream is?"

"Tch, sometimes you can even confuse reality and illusion, but you still have the nerve to say you're rational?"

"Um..." I was speechless for a moment.

Zhou Yan continued: "You and I are the same person in two worlds, so you don't have to hide anything... After my reasoning, I think you have now made money

] is confused with [writing].”

"Impossible." I waved my hand firmly this time: "I'm not poor, I don't want to make money that much."

"No, your desire to make money has nothing to do with whether you are poor or not!" Zhou Yan also firmly denied me: "You just want to make money now, but you make money not to spend money, but to prove yourself.

"

"prove yourself?"

"Yes, you need to make a lot of money from [writing], because only in this way can you have some confidence in front of your family, and can you dare to face yourself..."

"..." I was silent for a moment.

"Think about it, why have you never dared to tell the truth in front of your family? You have obviously written three books, but you have kept it secret and dare not tell them? Because you know that you have no choice now.

Get their approval.

It was once said in a love movie that a marriage without family support is bound to be unhappy.

In the same way, hobbies without family support are bound to be unhappy.

Therefore, for your dream of being a writer, you must find a way to get the blessing of your family.

It's a pity that you can't get them to support you now, because you don't even dare to let them read your book... Oh, no, you don't even dare to tell them that you are writing a book.

Haha, how ridiculous that I have to hide something that I have put so much effort into writing like a thief. With this kind of mentality, it is strange that you can write a book properly.

So how can we save this phenomenon... There is only one way, and that is money.

You have to prove that you can make a lot of money through writing and use it to silence your family.

When they say: "You can't write", you can argue back with reasonable arguments. Do you dare to ask: "Why?!"

They will say: "Writing is not a serious profession. Without five insurances and one housing fund, what will you do with your future life?"
To be continued...