Got fed up with ice creams. Just had one before breakfast. It was way too good to be pleasant. Moreover, the bread I bought is so nice and fresh, that it would be a crime to bake it for bruschetta as I planned. I just cannot resist eating it with butter only. Not as I planned. What’s even worse, the tomatoes I bought are so dreadfully beautiful, round and juicy that I may want to eat them right away. And I cannot decide whether to use some onion on them or just keep it rough. Besides, though I could’ve been drinking beer with lime from the very morning, I’ve somehow chosen a strawberry yoghurt, the force of habit, maybe, I might still be thinking I must eat healthy.
It’s warm outside, but not as warm as it’s gonna get towards midday. Then I might use a drink. Anyway, so much for bruschetta that I’ve been wanting for so long. Imma eat this bread fresh with tomatoes. Damn, it turns out I also have cheese, should I use it?
These are the problems I currently deal with. In fact, I had to think hard of what’s eating me these days. It’s a beautiful July morning and I don’t have to do anything. I can finally relax, I’ve got nothing more to prove, I did all I had to. Now’s the time to sit back and laugh. I can finally eat what I want, drink what I want and fuck what I want. And I call it the “Mediterranean mode”.
I think it perfectly describes the way one should live when not fighting for survival. There is wartime and there is this: a peaceful relief, satisfaction, contentment, chill out, pleasure. For one cannot wage wars forever. Otherwise, what would there be to fight for anyway?
The only courage you need is in the name of that Spanish town with a bat in the coats of arms, a town where you have but your arms stretched on the coast, and you don’t mind them sloppy puns for the sky is clear and you can have a Corona with lime by that calm Mediterranean C.