All that's left is to right.

I had the feeling that my fyp tutors hate me this morning.

It went away slightly after the meeting.

But they were right, in pointing out our fatal flaws. Now as I'm fleshing out my characters, I can see how the story would quite turn out.

I think I've been in Shanghai too long. I'm still in it. It's dangerous. While time moves forward, I forgot it's tugging me along. And so, I'm late. My fyp is late. Everything else seems to come late. Deadlines just fly by. There's hooks on 'em. Just trying to dodge 'em is torture.

Told you it's dangerous.

What I need is to focus. But then again, I've used that word one too many time that it has kinda lost its meaning. Maybe what I need is a safehouse. Somewhere to sit, and to write, and to write and to write.

So, social hermit it is. Unless it's Asshole Taiti, Saboteur or free movies *hint hint*, I'm going to crawl into that shell of mine.

And just write.

Okay, maybe I'll make exceptions for cycling. And of course, whistle-blowing.