Is one of these days that you don't feel like doing anything, and I mean anything, you just stand there with four books in you arms without knowing where to go, what to do and how to feel. You don't want to call anyone because you don't know who to talk to, to get you out of this mess, to touch and to hold on to. You have no idea of what took over your emotions. Or you do, but just can't do anything about it because all you see is yellow and stale. The pictures in your wallet just can't materialise and be there by your side. You're so tired of having to crack a smile when encountering people.
Today several symposiums were held, the morning ones were pretty good even though they're not something that would provoke much passion in me. But the afternoons were so bad that I was left shellshocked. Not knowing exactly what unearthly thing that had spoiled my day, I got out of the place without any spirit whatsoever at all. It was around 1515 and I just didn't want to go home to press down the mouse aimlessly with my index finger for a couple of happy hours, or take the optional tres hora siesta and wake up wanting to jump out of the window because everything was so obscure while my mouth was giving me the same old lecture, so I headed towards the library.
I sat down and replied to a letter and when I finished it I felt the tranquility in me. Snail mails, abandoned by lots of people, have lost the combat to the efficient and economically friendly email. Well, it doesn't mean that I don't use emails, I appreciate the convenience they bring along, but nothing compares to having something tangible between the fingers, the envelopes, the stamps, the post marks, the aroma, par avion.
So of course my next move was not to go home but to keep staying there and study, which I haven't been doing since this Monday (and I suspect that was one of the causes for my mood this afternoon). It was a beautiful read and after I got kicked out of the building by Sarah Brightman's Time to Say Goodbye I continued back home. Finished it a moment earlier and, amazingly, my normal tiredness was nowhere to be found. Well, guess that means I should at least be able to rest in peace tonight.
Today several symposiums were held, the morning ones were pretty good even though they're not something that would provoke much passion in me. But the afternoons were so bad that I was left shellshocked. Not knowing exactly what unearthly thing that had spoiled my day, I got out of the place without any spirit whatsoever at all. It was around 1515 and I just didn't want to go home to press down the mouse aimlessly with my index finger for a couple of happy hours, or take the optional tres hora siesta and wake up wanting to jump out of the window because everything was so obscure while my mouth was giving me the same old lecture, so I headed towards the library.
I sat down and replied to a letter and when I finished it I felt the tranquility in me. Snail mails, abandoned by lots of people, have lost the combat to the efficient and economically friendly email. Well, it doesn't mean that I don't use emails, I appreciate the convenience they bring along, but nothing compares to having something tangible between the fingers, the envelopes, the stamps, the post marks, the aroma, par avion.
So of course my next move was not to go home but to keep staying there and study, which I haven't been doing since this Monday (and I suspect that was one of the causes for my mood this afternoon). It was a beautiful read and after I got kicked out of the building by Sarah Brightman's Time to Say Goodbye I continued back home. Finished it a moment earlier and, amazingly, my normal tiredness was nowhere to be found. Well, guess that means I should at least be able to rest in peace tonight.
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