On the radio there is no course mourning
Attack in Marrakech five million unemployed royal wedding in London new Dukes of Cambridge all together
A rainy day like today a sunny day could be a busy day like today
's all well
barrel of oil
As well
So all
I had coffee in that place one morning after I timaran for the first time in that country, foreign and humiliated I felt,
I felt happy
drank coffee in the square watching the bustle (the real hustle)
It is so good here
Human pregnancy is the longest thing
Well not as long as the indifference and disease
In the small planet where I live I have reason to be happy
Because I sleep with the man of the most beautiful eyes
And because I kiss
In the small planet should listen to the news and I know that high technology, chance and the knowledge acquired through social networks (such laziness) we are not free to take a morning coffee in the right place
What you had believed
While
One storm after another
And the trees
afternoon saying something like
Tic tac tic tac
The afternoon I accumulates in the feet while doing productive work and superfluous that I enjoy
Today is Saturday and the curtains have this yellow light that you spend Saturday at home doing fruitful things used to feel good with that part of the personality that is lurking behind the professional duty
That is not the same as the duty as a citizen but is almost the same
I've said many times, but I'll repeat
not satisfied my duties as a citizen
Beyond recycling and pay my taxes
not mess with people on the street and I do strange noises in public but that is because
Before not recycled because it was fashionable
And I thought it would not pay my taxes because there was the statement of income
But I was wrong
What was not paying social security
are different things
I've known in my day after adult
afternoon tic tac ticking
I worked today as a champion on Saturday, I have even done housework in the morning and I replanted about half dead cactus I grabbed a sock to avoid pricking
In another ideal world would open several options that would converge on a
These jeans size 38, that gray eye shadow and black pen, always little run around the edges (laughing)
Smooth the role of a cigar stuck just turn it on and walk with great strides down the sidewalk to the place where the other
on the bar, lean on the bar
What the major steps is no merit because the length of my legs
But no matter it is a Saturday and the afternoon is yellow curtains
'm away from it all and jeans size 38
I do not know if I understand, the circumstances are other
(says the nun Prioress)
now is others!
(priorities)
(or possibilities)
(Other)
Yes, they are
Tic tac tic tac
Impatience
Impatience
I am a good citizen
One that does not come out and Saturday
Do not dirty the streets
That feels scared enough
As for disgusted
Del world we live
And yet
Be safe enough
And do anything about it
My boyfriend is going to collect my remains
heavy My feet
I ride my Peugeot 307
(itv in order and fines paid)
And take me to the movies in original version
Again will all make sense
(I think it has realized
of maternity clothes I wear.)
Intermittency. 
Maybe it's time to say a few words.
was not until today that I have noticed my silence.
new, long and sorted, in which everything is a little harder and everything is a little easier.
My inflated days, where everything's a little more and all matters less and less.
Have I got to keep the secret? I think not.
The secret is this: a battle with the literature and there is no winner. She and I dropped out of the ring, where an arbitrator crazy with anxiety problems blows and blows his shrill whistle.
Within this secret is a larger one, and spent the months of watching (pleasant and scared) how it came the year my life changed forever.
Now I'm embedded in a stretch where reality is finally another: I'm waiting for someone new to fill my entire life. I look out the window at the bottom of the roof, which leaves me the horizon dirty see. I imagine his face, over and over again, I can even imagine their future. I want it to arrive. I also want the time to stop.
This morning I diagnosed a disease: I can not reconcile the literature with other giant things. "I'm not, or is it really hard? Well, why. Moreover, it is still all around me literature, but different: my work, the books I read, that sniffing, I emphasize, too, though of course bad, the newspaper I write. I suppose a therapist would tell me that there is a time for everything these days and it's not fair that martirice me that way (the way I do, upset, bowed down, falling a whip there where it hurts). As yet I go to a therapist, I decided to write a blog post and tell me what happens.
I'm creating something inside me, which almost is almost ready.
I created a femur, a pancreas, a small skull.
I created the Achilles heel now I kick the belly buster.
No, never mind there was deus ex machina, that is pure biochemistry irrational.
For months I have my energy trying to drag into the same old places, and my energy, a soldier in battle, I'm back, it is less clear: the femur, pancreas, amniotic fluid. In the empty nights, open my notebook and scribbled: I know this is perfection. But the fight that my social being, my being literary, that my being anxious, my being a university, educational, scary, ambitious, tormented by defraud, has with my uterus deus ex machina is intense and leaves me sprawling, almost no air , diaphragm burst. Days pass, my belly grows unstoppable, there is nothing to do with life.
I have fear.
Fear of failing to correct and finish my thing Marshlight (whenever it is not too late).
Fear Marshlight not write another thing in the future.
Fear ceases to be in where? (Remember, this is a list for the therapist.)
Fear away from that (with the voice of Poe's tale).
Fear of losing the opportunity to (oh, did I have?).
Fear of disappointing my father.
Fear of defrauding people who trusted me one day.
Fear of not being able to everything: work, love, friendship, motherhood, literature-creation, social-editorial-facebook! Ah, sorry. Is that I can not Everything. This is not a fear, is a reality. Something we've come.
Fear to convert my old optimism in frustration.
Fear of myself, of course.
So I decided to come here and have these secrets that I do not think anyone surprised. That my silence has this color. I need, in this final stretch, raising his arms and make an effort, aside from me this coat, wet with frost, a little apulgarada at the edges, which weighs on the shoulders me: let my energy is focused on what mind: that final touch of perfection, moving from the three hundred kilo kilos, carefully prop hair from eyebrows, cuticles of the toenails, strengthen the tiny lungs to become powerful muscles to transform air. Are just two months. Maybe I'm still in time to fly. To let me go.
Deus ex machina, from me useless. No it's my turn, it is theirs. Concentrate all your strength in that mad heart that beats to 160 beats per minute and will go on tomorrow, when mine stops.
I ask (ask me, I ask) for a truce.
A warmth in silence, as it comes.
Quiet stay because I'm whispering.
I'm not going anywhere, I see.
And finally I get what I missed so much: I'll stop the world with one hand, I'll stop everyday villainy that only continue to work revolutions. Nothing happens, just wait and perfected.
Overall, it does not matter: in me, but nobody sees it, everything is literature, beginning with the name of my daughter .
