So, I found out that being at home even with the intention to get rest is the worst idea for life in general. Time seems endless and space of the rooms becomes your universe allegedly it is the only option of your leisure. I gave up the habit of being at home after English stuff (gosh, my memory turned out to be so short and fragile – use new attitude).

My list of ideas is long as usual but this time I decided to begin with the photos of texture. The weather condition was so ineligible to walk that from time to time I tried to breathe any air at least to say nothing about freshness. I went to the bay where it had been fun to look for the textures and colours. Surprisingly, I became bold enough to photo people in front and don’t feel shame for breaking their privacy. By the trade center I sung the songs and was a pretty little girl with the camera. I took some marvelous pictures of metal, glass and polyethylene at only one not finished construction of little market.

Frankly, I don’t know enough places here where I could go for reading and writing and I just had gone to the trade center. I do continue to read about social studies despite the fact that the exam passed away. Now the analyses of hippies and yuppies (I can make a mistake, sorry) in history of USA and USSR. Though I’m absolutely ok about reading at public places I had a hunch that there were little amount of people who read something at spare time. There is no passion of book reading at all.

At home I had (and still have) heap of photos to make up and compose in a list or two. I certainly like the projects.

Tennis at the evening went good. Before the beginning I went to the administrator and found out the corridors and the library of the republic’s best school which were quite modern. The head of tennis club amiably asked me about ongoing and recommended to train at the vacation if I can (we all know Moscow’s prices). Unfortunately, there wasn’t a great demand in tennis as I perceived. We had two trainers for four people. The workout itself went normal like nothing but people around had changed. As usual it was easier to breathe freely and even sing some melodies after.

The whole day the yesterday’s first act of Hamlet with Cumberbutch run through my mind fulfilling it with colours and images. The passion for acting and directing is coming back. I want to declaim poems or dialogs by myself. Today we’d watched it fully. Isn’t it strange to feel excitement while so much people pretends to be killed?

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