The one stupid thing at the morning totally changed the day. My alarm clock didn’t work. I opened eyes feeling the light out of the curtains. Strange thing for the morning in Moscow. I thought it’s Wednesday and quietly reflected on the dream. I saw some preparation philosophy course where the lector came to one student during the break and ask either he knows foreign languages or no. He said no and the lector directly responded that he wouldn’t attend in this case. So was my strange dream.

The morning I had to be at the cinema hall watching the Soviet films. But I did read the articles on them and watched the extracts. For some reason, my skip didn’t worry me at all. I ate the soup at the canteen in the company of the girls (such a boring company) and watched the people around.

During the lecture I observed the teacher. She was clever and good-looking (for her age) the strategy seemed smart and interactive. Students could feel free to express their impressions. Her tale about the famous director was full of bright details. I looked at her and some ideas came to mind. The ideas about life and happiness, and pleasure. The vague but so explicit ideas of life I want to lead. The clear image of society I want to be a part of, the lifestyle including lifelong self-education, visits to theatres, museums and other cultural places, the sturdy family relationships, good stylish apartment, the great profession which is a part of me. Piano music by the real piano. And in a moment everything seemed clear, understandable and possible. c1dd7bbb78056e27278b26436f1f5241

Moreover, I got that I need to demand more from myself to fill the gap between the idea and reality. Presently I live like in a dream, not like in a real world. I cannot look at other people’s faces and frankly say something like “I work on my becoming a production designer” or “I do everything to achieve my goal”.  Actually I am between, not within.

There was a lesson of the mastery then. I did talk a lot and felt quiet good being so indifferent about the pictures in the plastic bag. Mary offered me a project again. I couldn’t reject the other way than just taking her along and talking to her strangely. She very quickly asked me either I was burnt out at the profession and wasn’t I going to study the whole year. Talking to her a bit was my relief. The way down on the old staircases was the easiest for the whole time. The road to the art store I listened the Russian history and felt so good. The work is ahead.

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