Presicely it is the end of the age in my life – I feel that way. After so uneffectual plain air it had started to change something with my painful tiresome spirit, something evoking. I was reading a self-development book in the mum’s shop and think about thoughts wrote there. Now my inner is more lifeful and merry and graceful. I like to life my own life even if it’s not perfect. Everybody of us adds pieces of dreams into daily life to make it true. I really don’t know how instead of nagging pain with every move on plain air’s time I’ve taken an energy and deverse to make things of art. Maybe a thought not to try to do something absolutely genius but do something on the whole has let me out. We must accept to do some bad things for getting some great things as a result of process. Also I’ve known an inference about workaholism. It’s not a goodness at all it’s only a delusion of that. The goodness is a labour but not paranoic attempts to be effective (like me some times).
And then after a month alone (almost of course) I feel much better. To be listening new album and going on the evening street, smiling about traffic on main road, dancing and feeling self-confident.