What will save you from misery, from pain, from mental poverty is writing, I tell myself, and I look at the office, full of meaningless papers, I look at desks, shelves, the printer. What's gonna save you is writing, I'll tell me again. It's a mantra. If everything gets out of control - and everything does it - what will save you is writing.
I repeat my mantra as I listen to childish excuses of mediocre boys wearing a tie, when I read the newspapers, when I realize that the day I live in is the same as yesterday and probably the day before yesterday. I repeat it mentally after my first thought of the day, when I read something that transports me, when I feel that time is running out and it is impossible to recover. I say that when I get stuck in a story, when I am blocked, when a daily situation opens the possibility of a story. I say that when I correct and feel like I'm walking in circles. When I feel lonely, when I feel little, when I feel depressed and at the same time I smile and say that everything is fine.
What will save you is writing, the words resound in my head as I study, before going to sleep, in the bathroom, while I cook. I repeat it to myself automatically in the face of unloved, snobbery, lies. Also in the face of my dislike, my snobbery and my lies. I sing it to my brain when I don't know what to do with my life, when everything seems to fall out.
I shouldn't put so much importance on my salvation. I'm not a princess in a tower. Still, writing will save me.
He's gonna save me from me.