A slight feeling of melancholy settled slowly but bitterly into my heart today. It is Sunday and we went to an open air beach restaurant where the dj enthusiastically played Madonna's La Isla Bonita. I don't know if this feeling took over me because of the sheer boredom or because I had too many drinks last night. I am tired of letting myself down by not completing the promises I pledge to myself on a daily basis. That I'm going to write every day, articles and the big essay.
Nabokov came to my mind again, with his exceptional ability to write Lolita in a different language from his native in (only) six years time. If I could measure the level of my English in years studied (a completely nonsense but good point), my writing skills are comparable to a 9 years old child's. My first somewhat significant essay I produced at 15 so I still have six years to learn. The same time as the Lolita was penned. I find it one of the most beautifully written classics. Even though I am ultimately against the main feature of the novel.
I kept singing Lana Del Rey's Summertime Sadness in my head. Apart from not wanting to be kissed hard by anyone. I am not even bothered by this.
However every Monday has the potential to restart so I noted to myself: tomorrow wake up with alarm early, do exercise, work more and think less. Overthinking and over-feeling must be strongly related one to another.
When we returned home after having the dinner-on-the-beach (can be a name of a cocktail made for passionless pensioners), I took a shower and sat on the bed with the notebook in my lap. Then he came in and started to entertain me with striptease.
This came so unexpected and so out of my current mood that I could not help myself to laugh. It is not the first time that I noticed, life likes to through some ridiculously funny scene into your face just when you feel like being sad is so prosaic.
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