Status Updates From Daydream and Drunkenness of...

Love- ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Daydream and Drunkenness of a Young Lady- ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

But he had spotted her from the window, seen her
striding swiftly holding hands with their son, and said to himself: she’s savoring a moment of joy — alone. He had felt frustrated because for a while now he hadn't been able to live unless with her. And she still managed to savor her moments — alone.

They lived so peacefully that, if they brushed
up against a moment of joy, they'd exchange rapid,
almost ironic, glances, and both would say with their eyes: let’s not waste it, let’s not use it up frivolously. As if they'd been alive forever.

What if his wife was fleeing with their son from that living room with its well-adjusted light, from the tasteful furniture, the curtains and the paintings? That was what he’d given her. An engineer’s apartment.

And things had worked out in such a way that
painful love seemed like happiness to her —strength flowed back and forth through her heart in weighty abundance. She was very pretty just then, so elegant; in step with her time and the city where she'd been born as if she had chosen it. In her cross-eyed look anyone could sense the enjoyment this woman took in the things of the world.

‘Whoever marries off a son loses a son, whoever marries off a daughter gains a son,’ her mother had added.

Ah! it was easier to be a saint than a person!

She would have to kiss the leper, since she would never be just his sister.

She loved the world, loved what had been created — she loved with nausea.

The world seemed to be hers, dirty, perishable, hers.

The Garden was so pretty that she was afraid of Hell.

The cruelty of the world was tranquil. The murder was deep. And death was not what we thought.
While imaginary — it was a world to sink one’s
teeth into, a world of voluminous dahlias and tulips.

She had pacified life so well, taken such care for it
not to explode… And a blind man chewing gum was shattering it all to pieces. And through this compassion there appeared to Ana a life full of sweet nausea, rising to her mouth.

Through winding paths, she had fallen into a woman’s fate, with the surprise of fitting into it as if she had invented it. The man she’d married was a real man, the children she’d had were real children. Her former youth seemed as strange to her as one of life’s illnesses. She had gradually emerged from it to discover that one could also live without happiness

Her brief conversation with the electric bill collector was growing, the water in the laundry sink was growing, her children were growing, the table with food was growing, her husband coming home with the newspapers and smiling with hunger, the tiresome singing of the maids in the building. Ana gave to everything, tranquilly, her small, strong hand, her stream of life.

The moon. How well you could see it. The high, yellow moon gliding across the sky, poor little thing. Gliding, gliding ... Up high, up high. The moon.

Oh what’s got into me! she thought desperately. Had she eaten too much? oh what’s got into me, my goodness!
It was sadness.

She lay still in bed, peaceful, improvised. She loved… In advance she loved the man she’d one day love.