My life has ben as irregular as the weather of the last days. I am still living among boxes. I can't write a decent piece of verse work. I haven't been able to sit and read peacefully since the workers are still messing around with heavy tools and fixing up things. Last thing I enjoyed thoroughly was to put a cd and to minimize the oustide's white noise with music at maximum volume; eventually I walked out of my bed with the worst headache I've ever had. Though it was Kraftwerk, I had to deal with hammers, drills, etc.
In addition, I miss the old home.
Oh, by the way. . .
Cried so much his face was wet,
Then I knew he was not lying.
1 comment:
si de plano ni el illinoise no logra ponerte de buenas, no sé qué pueda hacerlo.
"ánimo" y "suerte".
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