Effort 1

According to our "official" plan, I  am telling you about one of the efforts I make to keep myself going, in the people's world. In your words, it's one of the way to keep the water filled for you not to start sinking to the sharp, painful, full of scary-thingies-ed, and full of disastrous-thingies-ed, sea bottom.

I write.
The neuroscientist I mentioned before said that if your imagination is too big, too much to handle and tormenting you, you should use it, instead. Instead of letting it bother you. Write, paint or do something creative to release it.
That's the reason I started. Only recently. Spring this year.
So, the story I am writing at the moment is about a boy and a woman.
The boy is 15 years old, whose model is my daughter's ex-classmate back in the Netherlands.
The woman is mostly me.
It's a story of friendship. Nice, true friendship.
I, the writer, had thought the story would end soon, like a 10-minute read.
But things changed. In the story, the boy and the woman started to move and act themselves. They decided to travel to Austria for summer skiing.
Now they are still skiing. They have to catch the Night Jet at 21:35 from Kufstein station.
I really hope they will make it.
Otherwise, people would start funny rumours.
"A 15-year-old boy and a 45-year-old woman, spending a night together??" You know, there are people who don’t understand anything. They have to be careful. 

I haven't got any enthusiastic reader for this story, so far. Except me.
It's a bit of a pity as I think it's a pretty good story. But at the same time, I don't care much. I am happy enough with it myself.
Strangely enough, considering that it was totally written by me, I feel filled when I read this story. 

My favourite part is when the boy threatens the woman by saying that he would stop going to the toilet and wet his pants. In the part before that, he was talking to the woman in a happy and excited way, but she wasn't listening. She should have been, as it was then very important for them to share the joy together. 

Do you think you may like this story? Do you like the boy?
He is a bit like you, too, Chrissy. 
I think he is our kind.