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January 31, 2007
The first thing you do is painting the flat. Suddenly you find yourself picking the perfect shade of happy yellow, saying goodbye to miserable white. Then, you change lightening, ordering a washmachine barrel which turns out to throw marvellous light pattern on the wall. You buy wicker baskets, even though you used to call them revoltingly rural and idyllic, perfectly suiting to Ikea-style home inhabited by a surprisingly functional family. Then you stow into a closet all those CDs with sad songs you would listen together and which covers has still his handwriting on them.
And then you start breathing.