Kates Playground At The Pool

The word is pain at night

just finished reading V. Woolf's diaries. I have a sense of futility and sadness that flooded my eyes. It is not just sadness, melancholy are satisfied by reading, because I already love this writer, in my own way and because I read in a closed world velvety, so deeply far from the rest of the world, now can not stand.

I just wish a lot of loneliness and the only activity to which I shall devote myself to read. I will start "Orlando" and then follow for "Things happen" and maybe I'll do a little ' break with the Greek Mythology, as I had promised, before returning to Woolf with "To the Lighthouse."

I get up from the sofa after hours of immersion in words, yet with tears in their eyes, this strange feeling that I can not describe, I go to the bathroom and burst into (...) sighiozzi sitting on the toilet. The scene, viewed from the outside, it makes me smile, but continued to sob. E 'tragicomic. The water, the sound of urine on the bottom, the pain of tears.

I decide to put the computer to write these few lines, but I feel I do not know, it's like I "books are saying, but I had no awareness of capacity. This stops me and the sense of worthlessness, feeling of an ant under a truck increases. Then I think "chisenefrega" and simply vent the "written" I arise in the mind. Because every time I say something before I trained as a picture, like a picture in his head, and the words take shape, in black on white paper. I think it is a fountain pen.

stomach, trembling hands, nausea and tremors, maybe it's just the time of ovulation so that upsets me. That makes me feel a little lonely, I moved at the sight of a puppy dog \u200b\u200b(like last night, in the midst of a party of about twenty people, with such high music ...)

And all the quirks that makes me try, the pre-menstrual period (?) as the desire to be in that state of mind of Alice in Wonderland, when the law under a cherry tree and falls into the whirl of sweet and soft sleep. And the dreams become reality.

...

The page would be a continuous wavering of ellipsis, if I wanted to be precise in explaining ... and would not fit an image to sum up all this confusion. It would not be black nor white, but not infinite shades of gray or gray. Nor pearl nor anthracite. I'll leave it like that. I leave the place only to words.