The secret agent;

“My despair reached such a height that I could do nothing but think of the horrible condition in which I found myself. I saw only one thing — death. Everything else was a lie.” — Leo Tolstoy, after finishing Anna Karenina

Recently I’ve been busy finishing notes for the examinations, and often feel stressed about it. How will I ever finish (and the like). Even finishing a bowl of potato soup has a sort of pleasure to it.

The cat follows me everywhere and heeds my beck and call, as if to remind me not to procrastinate by putting her paw on my laptop ever so often.

I am encouraged however, by the thought of being able to see the best friend’s Halloween pumpkin pictures! I told him to carve an enigmatic Kafka pumpkin, did you manage to do that, Irving?

I suddenly wish to be able to prepare and cook a big Christmas meal with turkey and oven casseroles and jingles everywhere. I am feeling very Christmassy and am singing the Spanish version of Jingle Bells I learnt from I Love Lucy.


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