The days pass, each one filled with something of its own, although in form, I wouldn't call them too varied. I wake up, usually a little late because I went to bed later than I thought, but not so critically late that I'd chastise myself. I get dressed, put on makeup, and make french toast. I leave the apartment late, but I'm not in much of a hurry- what do five minutes matter? During lectures, I genuinely try to study, and it seems like I succeed, but why do 2 hours turn into 2 minutes? I can never learn enough. Then there's the long break, pausa pranzo. If it's not Tuesday and the weather is nice, you will most likely find me alone at a table by the pond. I'll be listening to music. But if it's cold outside, I'll be reading on floor F in my secret spot. Then there's another lecture and an additional class for one of the subjects, where I again run out of time. At home, I eat, do chores, and sit down for homework for another hour. Recently, I started a new subject- drawing. So, I usually try to catch up on all the work that the students did in previous weeks. Then there's reading before bed. And no matter how early I go to prepare for sleep, something inevitably happens that prevents me from going to bed when I planned. And the next morning, I wake up late again, but not so late that I have to chastise myself.
P.s.: The photo features a cream bun called a maritozzo; a cube I made out of watercolor paper and forgot to bring to class today, even though I really wanted to impress someone with it; a piece of dark chocolate, I bought it because of the very beautiful wrapper; orange tea; and my sylvanian families, naturally.
