back from the dead

It's been two years since I last posted something here. And of course, as it normally happens every new year, I've been hit by a bout of nostalgia that led me into googling my name and finding my old blogs (including this one, in portuguese, that goes back almost 10 years), which led me into a whole night re-reading several years of blogging, which, well, led me here. I miss writing these mostly pointless diaries. If I should follow the right order of things, I should start blogging again somewhere else, for ritual sake (and not to risk readers linking new phases into cringe-worthy-old-phases), but since this one already holds my name and not some silly uninspired of-the-moment name, I decided that I might as well start again here.

For tradition sake, I should also say that I don't know how long this new-found enthusiasm will last, so I'll lower any possible expectations of continuous updates (I have a tendency to disappear from time to time), but I won't. Let's live in the present.

Hello, again.

8

years, today.

That's how long we have loved each other for.

It doesn't feel long. It feels timeless. And with each year, the thought of a life without you seems more and more unbearable.

te amo.

\o/

But of course, tired as I am, my eyes shut at about 2am. Watching the little map of the States flash blues and reds every hour on about five networks' and newspapers' websites, I just felt pangs of anxieties. As Juno would say, that red colour is so unholy - and at first, it seemed to cover one stretch of land too big. Then, at 3:52pm, I jumped awake, sending the laptop flying to the wall next to the bed. It landed on top of a half-drunk glass of red wine, shattering it to pieces, spilling dark liquid and shards of broken glass in every direction under the bed. I stood up swearing (lost another f*ckin' wine glass - I manage to break one per week) to clean the mess up, and then I hear the BBC presenter: "It's 4 o'clock, UK time, and Barack Obama is the new president of the United States." Damn. It felt like Brazil had won the World Cup. I shouted "Holy SHIT," getting a harsh "SHHHH, AMOR, it's 4 AM!" back from the boyfriend, who was pissed off at being woken up by the noise of laptops-hitting-walls-broken-glasses-BBC-man-announcements. I whispered back : "I KNOW! Isn't it amazing?"

As the Kung Fu Panda would say, there is no secret ingredient. All you've got to do is believe.