Boredom and merlot
Here we are, three degrees below zero, resisting the urge to kick me in bed doing nothing. On the bedside table waiting for me a book that I did not want to read. The evening are Internet users already finished at eleven and a quarter, and almost back again to attack the boredom. The feel that I bring them around without hovering, as if he was playing with me. It 'hard, go on.
But the important things. Because I have little desire to write.
Nell'intossicazione from drunkenness I found the courage to confront face to face what I'm escaping for a long time. Too, of course. And somewhere, even if you do not know where, I must find the strength to fight back and start again. Not torture, but even look at him.
But I lie, I lie straight to the mirror / The one I've broken to match my face
Mh.
So, the important things.
I'm afraid.
I worked so much last year, only to bury their heads in piles of things to do. I killed her for not thinking, and cabbage if it worked!
Not now, not so. Now breath too, I too airy spaces and vast that I can not lock into any box. And my palms are empty, and everything is too monotonous. Now I fear gripped
2013. Which has the form of abandonment, of a term for something that after all I is willing to go into the unknown, the victory or failure, the real comparison - finally - with the life I've been waiting for.
I feel surprisingly tired, old but not defeatist. I still have your whole life ahead, but I do not feel better on the skin. What has happened? It 'was this serene easy to circumvent? I do not know what to think of quell'elettrizzante carefree, except that now the game is difficult, and I do not have the forces to dominate. So I have to close your eyes, take a breath, focus and take things as I always did when they were too enormous to be addressed: one step at a time. I may start from here.
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