Today I tried to remain as Zen as possible, but you know when you get home and all your barriers melt down and that ball of infuriating fire is still lighting but because of the exhaustion it looked as if it were running out the gas and what remained was the ashes that crept into my mind threatening to evolve into a migraine, well you do? I felt exactly that.

As the fierce soldier I am, I haggled off this reality with that of my subconscious and adventure myself in the depths of dreams. What a journey, I dreamt with verboten love and with abuse, cliffs and heights. What I can highlight and what bedazzled me the most was a peculiar scene: I was in front of a pizzeria and the family in charge was in the middle of a severe argument. The father was holding forcibly the wrists of the mother, this one cried and implored him to stop, while their kids cried and shrieked. In the outlook of my dream I had the pleasure of having subtitles! How crazy is that! the family was talking an indigenous language and I could read what they were talking. Thing was my mother got in the middle of the argument and asked for the kids to take them, as in being their savior. I red that the little baby was in the "highest mountain", the father kept repeating that they were obliged to go there. I decipher it as the highest room in the tall building. Upon arriving no kid was there and despair started consuming me and just THEN my mother woke me up.