BEING LOVESICK SUCKS!

It all started last night, when, in my dreams I came incredibly close to the best kiss of my life. 
That was, off course, until I found it to be very disturbingly interrupted. It had the grace of a hurricane struggling to come out of my nose with an amount of power that made the bookshelves vibrate enough to knock down a couple vogues and a few cosmopolitans. Oh! I forgot to mention. ON MY FACE!
And that’s when I knew: Today was going to be a tuff day…
I was barely conscious after my cosmo, who I thought was my best friend, hit me in the face. But I realized I presented clearly all of the symptoms of…uhmmm death?
Fever, killer headaches, swollen eyes that poured non-stop rivers of tears, runny nose and how to forget the annoying chills!

Which reminds me, Someone should call Thesaurus to try to get the word “chills” refrased or renamed. Something that would describe it better. Like, what’s greek for “briefly possessed? 

About the tuff day. Later when I finally got to my house after five long hours of drawing/dripping-tears-all-over-the-room-i-was-trying-to-draw-and-having-to-start-over-a-hundred-times. I began my peaceful search for inspiration in my trustworthy e-source that keeps me informed of the latest inventions of industrial design. And as if my whole day hadn’t been enough, the first piece I ran into was a beautiful reminder of my lack of sleep the previous night and my almost kiss. The image is at the top of the paper and I believe you have not ignored it. A collection of cotton printed sheets called “I dream of you” created by the photographer Jess Bonham.
This whole experience got me thinking about the connection between my dream and my sickness. So I googled it like the average wonderer I am.

Quote:
“While the words: “You make me sick” may not seem the most romantic Valentine’s card message, you could send your loved one next week for psychologists believe it may be more apt than people think.
Tearfulness, insomnia, loss of concentration – if these symptoms sound familiar, chances are you could be diagnosed with love sickness.”
-The Daily Mail
United Kingdom

(This made me laugh a couple hours adding abdominal pain to my existing symptoms. )
And regarding my sickness? don’t worry about it.
The doctor said it was a virus but I don’t think so because otherwise everyone around me would be in bed dying of love!

DONE WITH BEING DELICATE...

Whenever in the presence of delicate objects...we tend to act with particular carefulness in order not to affect their always so graceful state of presentation...however there comes a time in life when this "acting" should be questioned...

I once had the opportunity to work at a very prestigious exhibition at the Ivanov museum of Novosivjrsk. During my lunch time I would always walk around every single hall in the museum looking for something that amazed me. Months went by and just when I thought I had wasted my entire internship staring at dysfunctionally strange trash called art...I came across the most beautiful thing i had ever seen...it was one of those lovers who you crave to come home to, and provoke you until you sink in between their arms and fall profoundly asleep for eternity without having to worry whether he will or won't still be there the next morning ...Yes. There he was...an amazingly sexy-two-meter-slightly-tanned leather sofa that swiped me off my feet and took my breath away all at once...it was love at first sight. There was only one barrier standing between us...a glass panel. More specifically an 8 cm thick unbreakable hermetic glass box.
On my way back home I found myself thinking repeatedly of the new love of my life until y crashed another invisible panel called reality...As soon as I opened the door to my cozy rented flat, my eyes were drawn to someone who I had lived so much with...someone who had been there for me whenever I needed him the most. Someone who I had loved once as much as I loved this new delirium of mine...It was my middle school sweetheart. That same one who had seen me argue with math or chemistry problems for days...and who would let me dream of stories so untrue yet real that kept me more awake than ever and that same one who had mortified my posture for so many years. My smaller wasted courderoy dark grayish couch.
I kept coming back to the museum for the next six years, getting slowly to know my delirium encouraged me every day to come back for more and more. And to tell the truth, the more I learned the more I liked him. I would rather eat at the museum and work my way around the viewers just to stay close. Coming home to my old piece was becoming disappointing and frustrating. Besides it had caused me enough back problems to need therapy.
It was about time to stop looking through the glass and reach through all the way. Time to move on.