It’s ten in the night. I can barely type, or even sustain my attention for long, but I’d rather register experience than to go to bed despite exhaustion.
I dismembered the huge bougainvillea and carried it outside. It was a job that took me infinite patience, because bougainvilleas are full of thorns and I don’t have proper equipment.
I used gloves, but they were in such a sad state that some of my bare fingers stuck out, and now I can perfectly feel which ones were exposed. My fingertips are all pulsing from overwork, if I keep on this pace I might gain the privilege of forging hands of a person who works the land.
I worked myself raw. The war I waged was tremendous. I am exhausted but happy. Nothing else needs to be recorded.