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Sucks to admit but I reacquire mental clarity only when I’m off work. Notes for the future is reshape my routine in a way that makes space for wandering, which entails sitting at the kitchen table and look at the ceiling or leaf through magazines

I really changed the way I talk to myself in the past months, more forgiving, merciful

Short trip cancelled because my menstruating body can’t deal with a one-bathroom two-bedroom seven people (two of which are stranger) situation + going to remote beaches for a day long. I’m not even mad, I have just a little fomo. What I’ll do instead is creating stuff

Sluggish days in-between short trips, tomorrow we’re taking off to our friends beach house, like last year. I guess Godard would’ve made a movie there. Packing my camera, extra towels and tampons. Trying to stay soft and calm today, but it’s difficult

I Maghi (aka il mago e la maga, aka the cats) are sleeping, there’s the deepest silence I’ve ever heard, last time this silence was in lanzarote, almost one year ago, dinner movie is a wim wenders movie, big summer tradition. Is this heaven

This magic new moon is gifting me the utmost silence at home, I’m alone in the the whole building, finally, I kiss the walls and the floors and dance to the deafening silence 

Hottest people are in their 30s

What bothers me the most is that I don’t take much interest for things as much as I used to. Like, I want to know what congee is and how to make it, I want to know everything about herbal medicine and Chinese remedies. I want to sign up for the the weirdest workshops and meet weird people. I want to meet people who ride horses, even metaphorically 

At the riverbank up in the mountains, knitting with the fuzziest palest blue/violet mohair I’ve ever used, my legs in the cold water. pink flowers all around

Grapes are an unfairly underrated fruit. Like I’m having grapes in this gorgeous pebbles beach, clear blue water, karstic mountain at my back, the sun just above the sea. I’m at peace finally

Summer only becomes sweet towards the end of july, something inside me breaks and i turn inward, melancholically, and i listen to the Kinks and watch the moon more often. Il Mago sleeps in his spot under the table and it breaks my heart because I've got no cat food for him today. So far it has been the most uneventful summer of all time, for very silly reasons, rain ruined almost anything good that was supposed to happen. But I'm reading Bolaño once again in the summer, some years ago I would read Brautigan, now it's just Bolaño, and tonight maybe Bulgakov