Labour Day.


Oh my! What a gorgeous morning I’ve had so far!!! And it is only 11:47am!

Yesterday, I went to bed at the ludicrous hour of  10.30 (completely in awe with myself, I must confess) pm. I had planned to do some  reading since I didn’t fancy turning the computer on and TV was simply ghastly. I couldn’t make it to the end of the first page when I was already snoring.

I woke up this morning at 8.30 to two thoughts:

1. I had slept the lavish amount of ten hours.

2. Any given day I should have just finished teaching my first class and had five minutes to get to the next battlefield. But today is a holiday! So I tucked myself in in a blanket of synthetic wool and thrill and drifted off again until 9.30 when the cats couldn’t resist starvation any longer and decided to do something about it. I got up, fed the girls and made myself a latte. I went back to bed and drank my coffee while watching the quiet, grey sky through the window.

I picked my almost finished novel from my night table and read in complete comfort until 10 when hunger decided to do something about the emptiness of my stomach. I got up and blessed my foresight of, in a rare frenzy of cooking,  having made some pancake dough two days ago to store in the fridge for further need. Needless to say that I made two delicious, brownish pancakes with sugar and cinnamon and added the Uruguayan touch of some “Dulce de Leche”… and I went to bed again to finish the novel while I relished in the spongy sweetnes of my breakfast.

I finished the novel (of which I was going to talk right now, but decided it’s better to post about it separately) the best way you can finish a book, namely:

1. Not being able to stop reading even if you are at the toilet.

2. With a laugh. Mind you, not laughing but with A laugh. One single laugh that concludes days of witty reading. One laugh that offices as an offering of eternal gratitude and immediate, loyal  friendship to whoever made you feel so warm and entertained for a string of days.

I looked at the clock and it was just 11.20 am! What to do with such an excessive amount of free time! A couple of down-to-earth alternatives came to my mind. I have some thing to do in the real world towards which I have mixed emotions because,

1. I know I have to do them.

2. I know it is good for me to do them.

3. I know the doing of them keep me half-connected with my surroundings and that, in turn, keeps me half-sane; what is a lot.

On the other hand… I was having such a  great time on my own! In this private, enclosed world peopled by fictional characters that amuse me, but don’t bore me. Whom I already like, or like very much or plainly love but don’t threaten me; and this fictional, instantaneous, old friendship with Alan Bradley (the author) who I’d like to call my pal in equal terms of  delight.

That was it! Either mash the bubble with the club of sensibility or concentrate all my efforts in keeping pretences. One side of me would end very disappointed one way or another. So, I decided to try the middle point. One way, let’s say, of bringing myself down gradually, making the disappointment more bearable: I decided to write a post.

It is 12.38 now and my annoying sensible self can’t stop screaming, in terror, I must start contact with the real world immediately in order to secure sanity (I’m so goddam good at it!). My fantastical self is already grieving the end of a  perfect morning trip to my Secret Garden.

Thanks God there is a new book on my night table I’ll start reading this night the latest.


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