the colors, the women

Yesterday was a cold day. At Casablanca K. sat opposite me. Between us the mulled wine with orange and the wooden table top, behind K. a window and bright daylight.
At the beginning of July she met M. in the photography society. They go together to see exhibitions and to the city park where once he took a beautiful summer photo of her – K. sent me the shot in the evening. She enjoys talking and writing about him – with a clear pleasure of dosing the precious details, exuding them slowly - more for herself than for me.
The clearer and clearer anticipation she has, though she won't admit it.
I love being some distant part of it.

Now goes the rest of it all: my skin got sun burnt while we were by the sea and the white shapes of bikini on my body are so distinct that I could easily go parading naked, using the suntan as a natural camouflage. The thing is there's no opportunities to get naked whatsoever as my sweet Masovia gave me the warm welcome of 11 °C and the two women who proposed to me this year turned out to have been kidding. Life always boils down to a mug of tea and a big blanket.
Plussss my good old fears are here to stay (probably thanks to my move to Warsaw coming soon) – and the nightmares, after which I could find new grey hair on my head with no surprise. Last night for example I spent in the middle of the World War II. And I was Polish. My ordeal was that I had to collect 16,000 somestrangecurrency in order to purchase some quite safe (un-Jewish I suppose) I.D. My head did its best: I had 6,000 and no hope to get any more. Strangely, in my dream I had friends and I loved someone who saved my life everyday (from which I make out some return of affection). Boundless is the absurdity of my imagination at night.
I make use of the rest of freedom I have in September: I watch, I read. (I even meet some old acquaintances – which might be the blind alley my mind went down making me dream of people.) The other day the Czech "Šeptej" didn't disappoint me – I was laughing my ass off throughout the park scene – and yesterday evening the pure esthetic cream of movie: "Three Colours: Red". "Blue" remains my favorite because of the ligibility of the liberté motif (the realization of the red fraternité seems rather cloudy to me) but I also suspect myself of preferring the blue color to the red – and Juliette Binoche to Irene Jacob, but who knows. Anyway, the tone – sophisticated, tranquil, gentle – remains the same through both of the colors.
But to prove that I'm not sophisticated lap-dog I'll admit I watch "Gilmore Girls" every day and it sneaks in my intestines as easily as the J. Winterson's "enclosed worlds" only can. Apart from the absolutely brilliant script, again it's about the esthetic side (in the autumn episodes on the streets of Stars Something there are big pumpkins around every lamp – I'm dying) and about a woman, though I'm not sure yet whether it's about Lauren Graham or Liza Weil with two big pizzas in front of her.
I guess I'm hungry.

[Eeee. When I said "two big pizzas" I meant PIZZAS and nothig else.]