This is the beginning of a Romanian novel, studied in school...The author starts by saying that time has infinite patience concernig the people, and ends by saying that time has no patience. In between, the novel, the story.
For some time, I have felt that time has no patience...I need more time:) to be able to do all the things I have set out to do. I am not even mentioning the things that I would like to do...
Maybe I am truly working better under stress. And maybe the only thing I need is make up to cover up the signs that the lack of sleep leaves on my face. Somebody told me today that I am getting older. My birthday is coming up soon, true, but I have never thought of it in these terms. Older...
Maybe. I like to think I'm actually wiser. Meaning I no longer bother to think about the fact I'm getting older:). I was depressed when I turned 20. Now I'm used to getting older each year:).
My most extravagant goal is to finish the Rushdie novel within a week. I will let you know about the outcome of this resolution, and probably/possibly/preferably produce a little comment around the book.
While waiting for my birthday to come and set me older:).
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