Sucked, I don't suffer.

I was sucked into a place where nothing happens, but nothing important.

I live and surrender, literal living in the day, both for money, as well as for work, or children.

Planning denied me and since every time I was planning to do something (dedicating hours to my work, handing over to Daughter's room, reordering cards, maybe writing) the world called me out to do "other" things, I decided I didn't plan anymore. I have a maximum idea of what I'm going to do and I'm going on.

I go ahead with the gym but also there often I have to give up because more pressing commitments turn out.

Ah, but I don't fight, eh, I'll let go.
I go where they call me, from the Zarina or from the Augustus Father, on the phone with the Zia AmoTuttoIlMondo, at the school of Son, to make the holes to the ears of Daughter, to do a bit of expense (poca eh, that you no longer know who will be at dinner and who at lunch).

In the hole in which I ended it is not bad: it is enough not to oppose the Ostacoli Vari effect.

It is not so bad: always like being on the raft in the middle of the ocean (ah, my movie The History of Pi accompanies me for days).

It's not that you can do a lot: if you can catch some small fish, talk to the stars, dream fertile islands from which to run, and just do nothing else.

Of good I take pictures of myself, not by the mania of protagonism, but because I am the only really always available. They are photos of me where I don't recognize myself because they eliminate all the effort and leave only the good part.

A deception of the camera from which I like to be deceived.