The morning started…wished it was over…surely my hormones (or the blood) are to be blamed for my terrible downward mood…yesterday was already that bad…frustrated…probably the first time that I felt like throwing a book to the wall…maybe it would turn into a poet then (you know, the frog-prince-thingy)
On top of all the desperation (mine)…with literature, Greek poets (who can be more than lucky for being dead) and emotional loneliness, I saw all kinda girls coming out of the neighbour rooms this morning and now watching Bridget Jones’s Diary right now…on a rainy gray gray Sunday (every woman will know what this actually feels like! – so let’s have some garlic bread for late lunch then)
I dreamed of Lucky again last night…of the time when he was still strong enough to still mentally communicate with me. Almost broke into tears this morning when I passed the red-yellow flowers in front of library…they somehow spoke to me with his voice.
Like walking on water…and only the thin surface carries your weakened body.