I went home and found love letters. My love letters. The ones I never sent, the ones I never finished. I found an old essay. I found entrance tickets I saved, and a napkin from an ice cream I ate in Milano. It had a nice picture, the napkin, that's why I kept it. I keep weird stuff. I think weird stuff when I come across weird stuff I keep. Out of the blue. I sometimes feel like putting thoughts on the paper, without thinking too much - I can read them later and think weird thoughts.
I'm sometimes a bit sad. Like now. For no specific reason.
My psychologist used the words 'personal development'. I hate these words. It's all just a big lie, that's my impression. She has a lot of patients from multinational companies, she says. I don't like this world.
I'm changing things and it feels nice - soon I will change the world, at least for some people. I want to.
She said that you are sad because of the past, and if you're scared, it's because of the future, and if you're angry, it's because of the present. She never mentioned happiness. I have to remember to ask that.
I read a book called 'The passion'. I loved it then, don't remember much of it now. Wanted to buy it today, but couldn't find it.
I will have a shower now, then get drunk, and I will wake up one day and be passionate again.