marți, 9 decembrie 2008

Sleep well

I almost fall asleep, but thoughts come to my mind and my imagination builds it's own fairytale (it's probably from the pineapple that I have such nice images when going to bed), I turn on the other side, make my pillow more comfortable and continue my dream... "A very young girl is hired as a baby sitter in a wealthy family... the kid is sweet, as he grows up, when he feels alone or gets scared of the dark goes and sleep in her room, in her bed... time flies and he lefts the place for studying, she goes on with her life and they meet again over years and they figure that they are madly in love with each other, especially the boy. But they don't let the other know - for me there where some erotic moments at a point, nothing worthy to be mentioned" (ok, the boy was 3 and she was 13 when the girls was hired, I convinced my brain that the relation was decent and it could go further with the details, otherwise it would have changed the subject - it does that). Bullshiting me with this charming story, I thought that would be something interesting to write down, course, maybe no one will ever read, but at least I have the chance to remember it. Thou believing I should put that down, I hadn't the slightest intention to get out of bed to do it (tomorrow I have to wake up at 6:00 anyway and it's 00:00 already). "Naughty girl, do you think that the great writers of the world didn't feel like getting out of bed when being inspired and waited until morning to, or whenever they had some time to share their stuff?" "I'm no f..cking writer"; "You're not, but you always do this: think that would be a good thing to do and postpone it for some other time, when you're less busy. STOP FULLIN' YOURSELF, YOU NEEEEEEVEEEEER HAVE TIME, NEVER EVER, EVER." Can you believe that this was not the thing that make me decide to invest the effort of getting up and turn on the laptop. No, not even that was strong enough. I just answered to myself.. ok, ok, but as a child I made up even more interesting stories and imagine things and ask question and talked to myself, and not even once had I thought to write a book about it, to share it with others, to write it down not to forget them, to feel guilty that I did none of these... and yet, was I sleeping so good, so deep, so happy with my own world - too worthy to be shared, too beautiful to be known.. Why would anyone care now, why would I care - all my kingdom for a horse, all my life for a inocent life!

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