Dear diary

Met my cousin, and we scanned a heap of family photos. Meanwhile tried to read my notes on the Hardy book, taken a year ago. Interesting, but got no ideas on what and how to do.

Finally decided to go to the winter forest for a day and a night. Holy hell. What's gonna happen to me.

Followed some suggestions from Everyday Activism blog. Felt some love and connection.

Wrote an announcement about the blog. Was glad.

Tried to write some text for the publication. I'm confuuuuused and sooooo uncertain every time I start doing some thesis. So soon I found myself 'doing-anything-but-writing'. For example I started an English blog. Why? Because I should write more. And I should write in English. And stop that blocking feeling that no one needs my thoughts. And then it's good for others. It's an everyday activism too. Seriously. To encourage people have their voices. And not to be afraid of English.

I just decided to have some diary here, while nobody's watching.

So, dear diary.

I had fun today several times: reading Dostoyevsky in the metro coach (yep, it was me who used to shout 'Down with escapism!'), having a shower, and then saying some clumsy new year wishes to a friend, who then told me she was going to have a baby (at last), and I felt joy hearing this.

I also tried some authentic movement (as I felt lost and eager to find a way), which brought some monsters, some heavy feelings forth, leaving me lost and helpless and falling apart.

And I kind of failed to hold me in all that with love.

Seems like battery is really low.

Sleeping, fucking and weeping is all I succeed in. And reading, sometimes.

I must start remembering dreams at last. And at least.