Dr.
is a long time no see. Maybe I should think that everything is booming.
I miss them very much, however, our long talks.
While on their practical utility, I never ceased to doubt. Yes, of course. I needed to vent. I help them to place better. To focus. Reassuring results. Meetings we have had many. If I had been suffering from some serious medical condition, if you'd noticed it. Instead, it is a "temperament". What I miss most, perhaps, is your approach to solar energy and positive, your sdrammatizzante smile so. But in times of misery, one has to sacrifice something. And you're part of my "cuts". You often I laugh out loud, with my silly sallies, those that come this way, without being able to control them. It does not matter if they are in the company of a friend, a Nobel laureate, an employer or a luminary of science. I still am. Always the same. I understand it, thanks to your teachings, as the exercises of the ABC, as well as to recognize the errors of thought.
But I'm training. Sometimes, when we talked, we seemed almost an equal relationship. Even at our first meeting, the feeling was immediate. I spoke with your own terminology, not I miss even the smallest detail pertaining to my psyche. I looked like a veteran, sighted, returned from years of psychoanalysis or psychotherapy. In a sense, this is the case. But Freud has nothing to do. Rino Gaetano is right, even those who did not read Freud can live a hundred years. My analysis was self-taught. By scholars of myself. Started in childhood and never abandoned. For this, I think, I'm just seemed so receptive. My history of emotional life in the third person, I loved it. Every time I go back to read it. I continue to amaze me how she cited the episode in four years when I got lost on the beach, and has not made any reference to my failed marriage. But maybe not. I do not pleasantly surprised more much. However, I said. I do not do more exercises. I understand how they are made. But that, apparently, not enough to change my attitude. Every day I plan to focus on the concrete. To tackle one problem at a time. Be a realist. And then I find myself mulling for days on the same detail and reference to the practical and important tomorrow. I continue to digress. Food dreams and hopes and dreams as I have always done. And a moment later, I find myself resizing. Sometimes to demolish them. But if I get rid of, I have the impression that little or nothing remains of me. And I feel the void that swallows me. Then try to recover at least in part. Just as much as enough to keep going. The night time where I struggle to fall asleep, materialize the thoughts more distressing. The first is the inexorable passage of time, I'm missing from his hands. There is no time (but time for what?) I think the idea that I had as a child of what would have been my life for my current age. It is impossible not to consider the extent to which my present is the antithesis of what I had imagined. Of how things, in part by fate (or should I call if ?), Most of my own volition, have taken the opposite direction. Every time I pause to observe the lives of my ex ordered classmates. Let's say at least the majority. But I feel feelings. Now I feel a healthy envy for the peace of mind. But now I wonder whether real or apparent tranquility. At times even provokes me sad. I do not know. In some cases I have the impression that the peace of one who is satisfied. Who goes more or less a compromise. I think those who were already in high school sweethearts. After high school: college, graduation, marriage with longtime girlfriend, a job as a teacher, the children. Methods, linear, so normal. Maybe I should I follow that pattern. Because those, I say, seem to screw themselves. Organic, say. They have a shape. My life, a succession of moments and fragments. Besides, I am the one who longs for rain in summer and winter sun. I look out the window. I will never be a conscientious housewife. The clothes hanging out the other day, I forgot to put them in the first drops fall. Noting that it was too late, I left them where they stood. Rain, however, were joined by the wind. One of the poles that supported the wires collapsed. And with him, bed sheets and clothing. Abandoned, broken. Tangled on the ground. Soaked with water. This morning, I think, I feel so too.
Then I think about last night. The tiny little house of Sandra. For the three glasses on the table already prepared when I arrived, along with the bottle of champagne, cookies and pretzels. Moments. After all, it was my choice. After all, I say, I just so little. Or maybe it's always too much. Why not just simplify my simplicity. Indeed, it is not so simple to be understood. And then disguises himself in spite of himself, standing in complexity (apparent) in the superhuman effort to understand the other's complexity and the complexity of the outside world. Then it becomes really complicated. Increasingly, even in the project seem utopian expectations at times.
picks up the phone and re-read the message of Sandra. I smile. That 's what I received last night, before going to bed. Spontaneous, unexpected. That is worth more.
Thanks for a lovely evening. You are two special friends. In my dark, you see the light.
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