three three is nice

last night in my dreams I was author of a brilliant translation of some wonderful book. a piece of literature that will last.
and the night before, I dreamt of a female vampire, who kept on hunting me.
today I woke up around eight, blissfully rested after my evening hydroxyzine pill. march, sun. my tiny room for 750 PLN/month can hardly bear all the sunlight.
the recording from Karolina Gruszka's house comes to my mind again and again:

there comes the thought that inside me there is no longing which, if satisfied, would let me live any happier;
there comes the thought that if I were to get back, I would make exactly the same decisions, because although I wouldn't like to return to some places I've been in the past, I know the traces they left are most precious;
the thin string of excitement when I think about the future;
no strong euphoria;
no great plans;
no confidence even.
there are still so many books I haven't read yet.