The thinking pile and the price list
She carries her thoughts the same way she carries unnecessary items inside her big white bag. She lifts her sense of guilt and three paintbrushes of stress through the underground doors in the morning, just like she ignores the notebook, the extra set of keys and the bank documents that seem to live in the bottom of her purse.



She keeps on walking, aware of the load but not ready to reorganize and file anything yet. Time. It's a matter of doing, she realizes, but it's also a matter of knowing exactly how to do whatever it is she does. You can't achieve without making a sacrifice. She wonders what will be sacrificed this time.

A home. A friend. Self esteem. A job. A dream. Something will be killed along the way.

Knowing this, she adds the murderous thoughts to the thinking pile and grabs the strap of her big white bag, while the city whispers grow dimmer and the sound of her own voice learns to articulate new words. You always end up paying, but what you get in return might be priceless.

Frivolousness (or lack thereof)
I can't remember the last time i bought any clothes. I don't recognize myself anymore. Honestly. This misery lack of cash is leaving me totally out of season. In fact, i don't even window shop anymore. The sales are as foreign to me as the Great Wall of China.

I could use a new pair of black boots. Brown gloves. I ran out of my Dubonnet Rouge about three months ago (actually, i simply lost it two days after paying a small fortune for it). I need another suit. See? It's not like i'm immune to fashion necessities.

(Deep sigh)

No money, no wardrobe renewals, no frivolousness in uma's life. Boy, would i love to stroll down that little alley off Jorge Juan, carrying four or five -heavy- bags.

Paralyzing white
After a weekend of self indulgence (shiatsu session, pampered by friends, surrounded by family, enjoying the exact company at all times) I can now look at this new unfolding month with different eyes. The result is white.

February looks a dirty shade of white, just like the rest of the months until the summer, when everything will surely turn into a yellow alerting tone. The questions are the usual: What the hell am i going to do with my life / when will I get my act together with the due texts / where is my home going to be/.

I’m still paralyzed, just like I have been since September. And that’s a freaking long time for a paralysis. Every night i feel the pinch in the stomach but the following morning i manage to ignore everything and hide behind invented routines.

Yeah, i can't find an explanation either. I look around, i look inside. I see the same. White. It's not that bad a colour, is it?