"The main thing is that I still remember"

Oh Zemfira, do marry me.

As for Her, because unfortunately, it is still about Her, I felt her near today and I was waiting, and waiting, and waiting. What is wrong with me. It turned out to be the worst shot. Way off the target. What is wrong with me, it's totally the wrong person for me.
It's still holidays and I'm already working like crazy. An intense sunny week in the city. A lot of translating, a lot of chasing around. One evening with such a quantity of alcohol that having drunk it probably makes an imbecile out of me. And then one with moderate two glasses of beer.
Met a fantastic woman who's gonna teach me Russian. She ridiculed my volunteer work: oh woman, you do the job, you take money for it. It's never for free, there's always someone to pay and in this case it's you. She's right, I think. But then I think of P. who does it almost 24/7 and it doesn't bring him a penny. And of the Foundation that has practically no money of its own. And of my benefit of having real texts to translate, with real deadlines, which is necessary for me to complete any serious task at all. Finally, I think of how much easier it is for me to do things when I'm not paid for it. She says: you all in your generation are like that. Just sitting at the table and talking, talking, talking, although there's nothing on that table you could feed yourself with. Funny. She must be talking of some other generation than mine.
M.'s quite often at my place, so elusive, as usually; devoted, yet so distant. Self-sufficient.
D. on Tuesday, for the first time since that summer evening a year ago. Why won't life spoil her, when her face is so sweet one can hardly resist her.
A. & F. finally moved to Warsaw, they took me to a nice place on Saturday. She was there too.
B. gets back tonight, it all might be fun. That pace has been successfully preventing me from thinking. Not. To. Think. Cut myself off from those who pity me. Not to think. Eat. Drink. Laugh. Not to think.

Oh, Tracy. Do marry me.