pre-holiday writings

This was the day before the holiday.
At the morning I went to the Uni for lesson and talked with the girl the most of time at the break. Her manner to speak too open seems me a bit childish. And she doesn’t think or just tell about their study as ambiguous as it could be. (And what time I found myself angry with the college and life) Anyway the group of pupils in the study was very schoolish. I mean children who afraid of any phrase and spend the break with cellphones rather than talking with each other. Even though we got some fanny talk during the way back.
At the midday there was the process of cleaning flat up. Nothing special, but my pallete left the spot at the balcony and I had to rub it. (Creative activity destroys clean order)
Then we began the hardest part of the day, I mean purhases for New Year eve. Yesterday I made the list but today mom had been going so chaotic, with distractions and fast changes. It was hard and boring to carry things home. In the supermarket I enjoyed steering the hand cart and observing the work of enveloping machines. But it had been the same chaotic process without the concrete leader. It is so diffucult to persist on some purchases you know as I don’t pay for anything and the crisis in this area. But she doesn’t speak presicely.
The other point is that there is no New Year spirit in the cheap markets among ignorant people. That’s all so down-to-earth, so predictable boring. But I like to observe sellers anywhere. In the household chemicals’ store there were so uneducated, vulgar seller as the market’s area be commonly. The same was at the butcher shop where two sellers changed their mind about price just because of neighbour’s greed or stabborness.
In one word, I do not like local markets. If I’d choose it would be a small good shop with delicious goods and polite service.
Oh, let’s keep silence about wishes. I’d like average thick tree with elegant decoration, french cooking and everything is in the wood house at the mountains among friends and family. This is why I don’t like to figure dreams out. Reality loses its taste.
I’ve written too much to be justified.

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