My diary of every day

                                                     My diary of every day    Aurélie Asseo

Dear diary

We are on the fourth of June twenty twenty-three and I am now thirty-five years old and four months. Strangely enough these days are part of a difficult life period for me. It's been like that for nine years now and if you read my memoir's draft  "the cat stumbles "you may understand why. I am in a time of wonderings I don't understand all what has happening to me the last nine or ten years and I wonder if I am the only one in such a situation. I find it very difficult compared to my previous experiences of life .I don't understand it all.The reason why I try to write short fictions now is partly because I need to think of romantic settings and such dreams I would have wanted myself to come true.Romanticism lightens my anxiety.What I like when I try to sketche these chapters is that I completely visualize them.Although my characters do  not  always resemble  me,some do. I enjoy chosing places I have not been recently and sometimes never been to. Although I know my imagination to be vivid I hope my descriptions or the knowledge I built to be insightful and mostly accurate.I have been in a very strange position lately as I hear  people screaming when I am alone at home. I feel frightened. If you read my poems "Blue and Scarlet verse" or my teenage diary you'd understand that I wrote mostly poetry from 2002 to 2017 and now it seems that I really have switched to prose or poetic prose.I as any woman had crushes  for people and fell in love too .Although I mostly failed sentimentaly  and my latest relationship was difficult. I am at loss now with certain things. My problem is that many of the relationships I had wanted  would have been wrecked by circumstances I do not understand or I was confronted supposedly to unrequited love stories (I thought about Alexandra a lot)  I listened  quite a bit to some  classical music  for a time: Rachmaninov's etudes tableau Bartok's Romanian Folk dances, Djvorak , Janacek and a few others. In the last decade I discovered a few rock bands, one is a band called Porcupine Tree and the singer is called Steven Wilson, I like his songs quite a lot and play these songs while writing, I also listen to a band called Beck ,from time to time, the singer David Campbell Hansen, is quite "Sparrowish" ( a  private joke in reference to my story "White Shore" alhough a bit different from my teacher's Monika's  male assistant, who is not a show buisness person and therefore might be an accessible friend? I wonder if so, maybe)    

Dear Diary, June fourth, twenty twenty-three, and I find myself at the age of thirty-five and four months. These days mark a challenging period, lingering for nine years now, as chronicled in my draft memoir, "The Cat Stumbles." The complexities of my life puzzle me, and I often wonder if others face similar enigmas. This phase feels more demanding than any I've encountered before, leaving me grappling with understanding. To navigate through these tumultuous times, I've turned to crafting short fictions. Creating romantic settings and dreaming of what could have been lightens the weight of my anxiety. The process involves vividly visualizing chapters, sometimes with characters that mirror aspects of myself. I take solace in selecting locations I've not recently visited or have never experienced firsthand. Despite my vivid imagination, I aspire for my descriptions to be not just imaginative but also insightful and, ideally, accurate. Lately, an unsettling development has emerged. Alone at home, I've been hearing people screaming, a haunting experience that leaves me frightened. Perhaps delving into my poetry, like "Blue and Scarlet Verse," or revisiting my teenage diary might offer insights into these unnerving occurrences. Reflecting on my past, I acknowledge my share of crushes and failed romantic endeavors. The most recent relationship proved to be particularly challenging, leaving me grappling with various uncertainties. Many relationships I had envisioned were thwarted by circumstances beyond my comprehension, and I've faced what seemed like unrequited love stories, notably thinking of someone named Alexandra. In terms of artistic companionship, classical music accompanied me for quite some time, featuring the likes of Rachmaninov, Bartok, Djvorak, Janacek, and others. However, in the last decade, I discovered rock bands, with Porcupine Tree and Steven Wilson's songs becoming a comforting backdrop to my writing. Another occasional muse is Beck, led by David Campbell Hansen, whose music intertwines with my creative process. As I tread through these uncertain waters, I wonder if there's a connection between my fictional worlds and the disconcerting screams that echo in my solitary moments. Could music, particularly the tunes of Steven Wilson or Beck, guide me through this maze of confusion? Only time will tell, and as I continue to explore the realms of prose and poetic prose, I hope to find clarity amid the mist Yours sincerely,