I have always found this about session in blogs a bit narcissist, and must admit that I have actually never felt totally comfortable to talk about myself. Talking to such a broad and unpredictable audience makes it a thousand times more frightening. After pondering for a while, I decided to let the voice do this job for me. You may be wondering who in the world is the voice. She (in my case is a she, but it may not be the same for you) is that thing you talk to inside your mind. You may call it something else, but I call it the voice. One might even claim that this is only me and the voice is only the product of a fertile imagination, or the wish of an irresponsible writer. But that would be a whole different discussion, and I just meant to say that I have the voice, that she knows me very well and that she will, therefore, carry out this dirty job of writing this about session for me.

The writer of this blog has such an inconstant personality that I will never manage to define her. I will  therefore avoid using definitions, and will rather go for what I have been able to observe so far; I might need to edit this text every once in a while, though. 

She doesn't really know how to define herself, but she knows several things she would like to be or do, if she could. She truly wishes she could be a bird, and she often feels frustrated for being so dependent on airports (if at least she could fly on her own!). She would like to be a writer, and to write beautiful, very long novels that would one day, after she died, become a classic. She wishes she could either draw or paint, and also wishes she could play a musical instrument and dance and sing like a gypsy. She wanted to be a photographer and that her pictures were good enough to be in books and art galleries.

She loves making lists of all sort of things. She makes daily to-do lists that she can never comply with (and that often result in anxiety and frustration). Every time she moves to a new country, there is a new list of cities she wants to visit. She makes lists of must-read books, must-watch movies, and shopping lists for her weekly visit to the supermarket (which she again doesn't follow, as her priorities seem to change as soon as she steps into the shop). But she never makes list of favourite music, bands or singers; she has a very strange habit of, every now and then, loving a new singer, who she will listen to until the exhaustion. She loves writing and receiving postcards, and laments that not many of her friends share the same passion.