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Woke up at 3am due to summer being summer (too stuffy, by the time I managed to ventilate the room enough for the heat to be manageable it had gone super bright outside because Germany). It is now 7am. I am too awake to go back to sleep, and too out of it to be useful. Joints hurt. Blegh.

Have to say, Beethoven's Pathétique always slaps. Big fan of the first movement especially.

Brain feeling too tired and scattered to write. Making myself some light dinner instead.

Wanted to write but brain is scattered. Unsure whether coffee would be a good idea

I thought for a moment today my migraine was gone but NOPE throbbing on the other side now. It just moved from right to left. Uff.

My mother: omg it is so hot in Rome it is unbearable it is nearly forty degrees at 11am already I am melting My mother, one minute later: why are you not coming to visit me this month? Do I look like a masochist to you

I miss my violin...

Every time I am tempted to think our bookstore is chaotic I remember Voltaire&Russeau (beautiful, magical place, would dive right back immediately if a portal to that place opened in my presence) and then everything looks extremely neat and tidy again.