things (restaurant bills, dried flowers, papers chorras drawings, photographs of a thousand, emails, letters, even when I was in elementary school ...), memories that help me have more or less scheduled my memory which becomes more and more precarious as time passes some years now. I guess this comes from my mother and my grandfather it ... in the end we are a family of collectors in either direction.
The fact is that until recently had never thought this could bring me trouble. But lately there are things that seem to emerge from the earth as zombies, those that grab your ankle to fall the ground. And no, I've fallen but the odd stumble and start to think that it is so fun to have around to avoid oblivion. I guess this is something that one does not realize it until they have lived enough things to begin to clump together and pull back with its unique perfume what is to come. 
Perhaps our brains have more self-preservation instinct than we think ... so I'll stop reading and review things for a while, and not just mine ... the story is not written a single book.
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