sounds the alarm. It is seven in the morning. Do not feel like getting out of bed. For a moment I think it's Friday and the week is over. Error. It's only Tuesday. I stretched and groped me where to get up without seeing the floor. I get under the shower and I feel the hot water runs indiscriminately every corner of my skin and loosen my muscles. I soap up thoroughly and let the water run. It smells like coconut and form a large cloud of steam in the bathroom. ONE.
People pushed me on the subway stairs trying to get to the platform hastily. Almost slipped. I climb on the bandwagon and not be overflowing. Again I have to go up. There's a guy at my side that follows an unbearable stench that forces me to hold your breath. Fortunately, low the next. I pull out my book bag and open it to the last page where I had left the day earlier at the same time. Leo: " And every night I wonder how many things I did at the end of the day to feel more free, more about my dreams." DOS.
not do a particularly good coffee, but my colleagues and I will go with them. Usually, if you start talking about work, I grab a newspaper and decide not to listen. I need to unwind after eating, is a kind of mental siesta. Sometimes, however, in which we play that nonsense, for example, that "an aphorism is a place where the Romans gathered to talk about their things." I crack up laughing until the casings writhing in pain inside me. The coffee then I know exquisite. THREE .
hardly know anything about him. Your name, and the plant where he works. We will occasionally coincided in the elevator, but I've gone totally unnoticed by him. That made me a little grief because I him I like, I find attractive, interesting. But his indifference makes me think that he has not even been aware of my existence. I run into him. It was a fluke. I looked up and down, with great curiosity, and he has broached a 'Hello, how are you? " so sensual that he would have answered 'Yes I' without hesitation. FOUR .
Fatigue can and I'm almost convinced I will not get to finish the third round of pushups. My arms weigh more and more, as if supporting an anvil on his back. I wish I could stop to dry the sweat from his forehead, which begins to seep through the tear from my eyes and stings. I will not be able to .... I will not be able ... Suddenly noticed a nice warm feeling in my abdomen. The chunky hand my trainer pushes upward momentum. "Come on, you can!" He shouts. Seen bending the arms, chest full of air, I hope and complete the series. FIVE .
My roommate has cooked a giant pot of pasta al pomodoro . I open the front door and a gust of fresh food smell permeates my nostrils. I hear the chup-chup of the sauce to simmer on the other side of the aisle. Proust's madeleine. I remember when I was young and hearty soups from my mother. SEIS. I decide to call her. He tells me the usual, and I answered as usual, but today I like to tell you how much I love her. I tell him. He answered: "Me too, daughter." SEVEN .
mourn I feel for every time I see that movie. It makes me sad because it reminds me the most bitter of life. My friends know that then spend three days of hell, wondering about the meaning of my existence, or what is worse, in my absence. And one question leads me to another and another and another, and just vomiting all over a blank document, as chaotic pieces of a puzzle, until the third day, when calm returns, looking more lyrical way possible to ask not respond or answer no questions asked. And I get something like what you're reading right now. EIGHT .
My bed is made. My room, in order. Clothes, ready for tomorrow, on the chair, where it belongs. Listen to some soft rock. I light incense of sandalwood. There is nothing extraordinary. I like that sense of balance. NINE .
I curl up between the sheets. I stroked my hands and the smell. Moisturizer.
How many have I done today to feel more free, more about my dreams? , I wonder. Perhaps nothing. Maybe all . I smile. I close my eyes. Tomorrow is another day with smaller moments like these. TEN .
0 comments:
Post a Comment