These books are not exactly Christmas gifts. They are gifts, but I've done myself (except tea The book, which I bought for Herberwest): remember? I threw the entire month of August reading about them to not end up taking even a little curious ... On the way are two, second-hand, which I hope to have translated one, at least before the next course of Huesca.
On Christmas Eve I read this post in By the way, recommended personal blog Luarna another juntaletras, companion of the Master Script. His thoughts on the pleasure of giving gifts is a lot like my own. I love it, and this year, which I have not stopped writing but I'm still waiting to charge, I have not been forced to give away some of my stuff because I could not buy anything.
was not on social occasions and it is, of course. When we do a gift or signing a contract or, if we care, leaving a part of who we are: maybe this is why, to tell who we are, to tell something.
In one of the two cases was in fact all I could give. I gave away two books from my bookshelf ( this this and signed), and a notebook in my collection. I have given an excessive and a little messy, just like the day I started to buy forks like crazy, but what they want: it was an end of year I could hardly do anything but try to plug a hole infinity.
There are only three hours to the end of 2010. The year I buried my grandmother , my uncle, my teacher and Mansur a friend, but I recovered another . The year that I broke some of my neuroses and foot . The year The Bell Jar, personal blog of a bipolar patient became Look for Verda z, personal blog of a writer, a kendoka, a daughter, a granddaughter, a friend, a wife , a Muslim, a socialist, a zenki, an orphan enough, a reader, a traveler, a fan of Star Wars, a Madrid. The year I learned to deal with dragons .
I do not know what 2011 holds: entry start in January with three projects whose outcome is uncertain, and far more exposed emotionally than I would have liked. I can not think or even on vacation, or to make plans beyond 30 days: always in motion is the future.
But here are, for the seventh time, the last sunset in my town.
Hope will receive here. Happy night.