It's been a long summer, full of reflections and readings.
I spent wonderful days in a place that I would like and then I walked in a silent discovering Venice and unpublished parts of me, I think, very important. Now I'm at home, at my house (I can say that I still can not pronounce these two words together without feeling a little 'upside down and a little' uncomfortable?), A project to hang a few posters are covered in paperwork. That's fine.
goes very well.
is a climate very similar to that of the school starts again: the city that goes back to being chilly, throw on a sweater in the morning while I go to work, the tan starts to be a bit 'nonsense found in routine daily.
As usual, the little hyena devouring me from inside the tents of the traps me, where I fall with all the shoes.
I was so happy to know myself able to walk for hours and hours and hours with no one corrected me behind, not even my shadow, and then I was unhappy, as was obvious, again for being indulgent to my fantasies. Daydreaming is bad for those like me, you end up high and believe with my legs like those of Loren.
I come back and are full of gifts, small things to preserve, set aside for myself. As the picture of the angel of Tiepolo that saves the builder that the scaffolding falls, or those ten minutes I went numb in front of a window behind which was exposed a stark piece of my life. (I bought it and now I've hidden in a kitchen counter). Or walking near water at night with that guy who played the violin, the same melancholy, the effect filmaccio to tell it so, and yet so poignant then and there.
The work is all, everywhere, a good portion is also back, and now I should be there to handle it.
But I enjoy a little more this climate, the smell of new books, and folder.
That little euphoria, you know, it ends soon.
