It's Friday night, and I am drinking cheap tea... - Thoughts at the end of the Summer

Yes, it is Friday night. I am drinking cheap tea. I am alone in my room and it is dark outside.

I have my gender studies book open in my desk with some pages left for me to read. But reading about sex and gender and all that gets you tired after a while.

I have a letter that I have written but need to copy into nicer paper and handwriting. I do not have the address to send it yet. No point in doing it now then.

So, that is what I told my aunt whom I called an hour ago. She was very surprised. She said teenagers here in Canada go out and get drunk on Friday nights, they wait all week for it, actually. I was about to tell I could use some cherry licour but I did not.

Yes, I know it all seems boring. Tedious. Outrageously still. Yet, I fell this end of summer days as moments of perfect harmony and beauty. Of thoughts that come to inhabit my head during the soemtimes lonely days. And of visions of details of shocking beauty.

When I was coming from the bank, I heard somehting. A bagpipe, playing somewhere. It was a beautiful song, much like the ones of the Portuguese bagpipe players. So I looked through the last rays of sun, and searched in vain for a player . No sign of man, woman, or any other soul on the lawns around. For about 30 minutes I stood there. Sometimes I felt like I was seeing something, but it was not the player. The music seemed to come from the forest beyond the lawn, up the mountain. It seemed as if it was being played from someone hidding in trees. Maybe it was.

Earlier today, I went to the library and fetched a copy of the Motorcycle Diaries. I must see it. While going out, after a very nice old lady checked my DVD's , I saw the magazine of the Pacific Cinematheque and saw they had a whole cycle dedicated to Truffaut! I almost jumped. In that moment I decided I would go and see all the movies I could at the Cinematheque.

Inspired by this resolution, I went online and checked the programme for the Lisbon Cinemateca. It was beautiful... I wish I was there. I wish I worked there. How beautiful it could be... to work in the Cinemateca. To let yourself drift among the movies everyday. Not to live a fantasy, no. But to live multiple realities. And feel no guilt or shame at all.

And among thoughts such as this I wonder, among the paperwork and the cheap tea, where I am. What is this place I live in and what is my future here. Whatever it might be, it begins with these floatting last summer days.