It’s like time has hurt me, I tell you. Or maybe it’s just the heat that weighs down my days. I find myself endlessly watching the clouds. If they are only moving, they end up coming back to the same shapes, puffed up like foam. Sometimes the sky is clear, occasionally grey, like a tornado, but the cumulus clouds take over at the slightest opportunity.
I have resumed my walking journey to work. The freezing rains did not cause too much damage to the sidewalks, especially since the municipal workers did their job on time. It's cold, it's still a little windy. Fortunately, since my journey is from north to south, the fresh air from the west is blocked by the strong barricade of the houses.
Entire days to live. Huge hours to fill. My mind, happy, but tormented, opens its hands wide. I have difficulty describing my feelings, my sensations as if a cyclone would fall on the few certainties that serve as my conscience. I am just finishing a reading on Nietzsche's thinking and getting ready to start an introduction to existentialism. I want to know where the thinking stands on this point.