I decided, I'll write "my memories." Because the memories of a life can only write the decrepit old who have nothing better to do while they are in bed property? Why can not I do it myself? A shorter life but still a life. The idea has made me be a friend of mine last night. Wise words, holy, holy indeed! And in doing so the memories are more vivid because you know that the old memory fails and then you end up talking only of trifles, nonsense and various things for granted that no one cares. Well today they are mentally engaged in this thing while I went to almost finish the painting of the living room, clean and varied afternoon assembling the Billy bookcase and a touch of youth to the house. Slowly the apartment comes to life. Now I have to also think about which photos to frame and put in the living room because I do not want a thousand pictures and several squares that were there before. Ah, I also ordered two books this morning, "Enneads" of Plotinus and "For Lacan" the Recalcati. Gliesami of January is approaching and so we must prepare. END
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