Too much time spent doing nothing

And that's it!

I do spent too much time doing nothing. I did spent three hours in this cafe, just checking out new templates (tryng this one out, just to see if it pleases me enough), checking Facebook, Twitter and doing that only. i've written a post on which I was thinking since yesterday and it ended up coming out very well. I've ended up publishing the poem of Camões that I have thought about and I haven't added much to the entry. Just "touched" on the templates' issue too. There's something called "evolution" and I keep evolving or floating between phases and spheres. Nothing special about that.

Then, right now,in a hurry, I am typing this. Perhaps, this secnd post is pontless and senseless. Perhaps I am just wasting time and energy, that could be very well used doing some other stuffs.

I have been using old images that I have previously posted in this blog or in any other of the ones that I have or had. They're stored n Google storage place. That weird Picasa thing. I als had the tme to creep myself with some of the images that I have posted before. I imagine the thoughts that I've had. I am now feeling curious to read these old lines. I will. I eventually will. Not now. Not even today. But I keep thatplan of reading old lines here and in the blog I've shutted. I want to correct the ortographic mistakes. I might delete ne or another entry. There are things I don't even want to see myself. Why would I allow others to?

There are way too many things going by within me and within my soul. Evolution. Damned word and so right. We need t evolve, to reach somewhere. And my evolution is stopped. It went back. Soon I will evolve again.

I started re-reading the book "Maktub" by Paulo Coelho. The first lines made a connection inside of me. I like his lines. Or I used to. I think that Paulo Coelho is repeating himself way too much. Plus, according to what I've gotten to read lately, I think that he started going too far in vanity. And that has been a very good reason for me to stop listening to sme singers, to stop reading some authors.

I need t stop here. I need to start thinking on walking back home. My back hurts of this hard chair. My butt's already hurtng and not in a pleasant way. I need to go home, stop, rest. Later on I'll be in the cafe again, but not here. Later on, I will be in the streets, but I won't walk up here.

A meeting with an old friend. It felt good to be with her again. It felt really good to taste the flavour of real friendship. I was missing that and I have started to forget how good it tasted. I thought on what it would taste to be in love. Then again, the very little memory  have of it, it is something very bitter. Maybe the fact of the only time that I've been truly in love has been an illusion, something which turned out to be very dangerous and very bad, has made me to become like a wild animal, hunting his next prey. And it feels good when I am hunting. It feels even better when I leave the "corpse" behind, for others to get it and to eat it.

I keep being myself. And if that means that I am crazy, then blessed be such madness!

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