I’ve just finished my third turn for book. It took 6 hours with all my distractions on web and tea. That why it’s so long. But indeed I allegedly had to be in the bower with shovel in my hands. As it was yesterday. I felt so bad myself as I’ve done flight to unplesant country with unplesant people to me. So useless at all. When I finally had come home I had a sense of disaster and malice in the place of love and beauty. I tried to make sketches for composition, but being alone at home from time to time unwillingly I cried cause of lonelyness. I was so physicaly psychologically tired on not my people around. But ordinary silly one who can’t speak correctly. And no my farther, no my frienships. I drew a copy with new music till midnight.

Today I woke up when mum already has gone and start to decorate works for review. Listening “Impressionists” it makes me better.


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