Dear Matthew

Dear Matthew,
You were right, as always. I didn't want to believe that Paul was becoming a pig, but it is so, it can't be helped. I saw him yesterday, eating acorns in the park. It was sort of striking to see him like that, i won't go into details, it would hurt too much. I think all the time about that, i think what we could do, and i don't find an answer. It seems he's gone. I visited Dr Müller yesterday, trying to find out if there is anything to do, he told me it is an irreversible process as long as they know, but they're doing everything they can. It seems to me, that the best they can do is drinking coffee and smiling, so i don't have too much hope in the "experts".

I'm really suffering, probably more than he does, he had his new piggy-laid-back attitude. I wanna stop this process Matt, i am really thinking about killing him, really, no kidding. I'm suffering too much. Matt, Paul is becoming a pig, and it is a fact. I know you were the first one telling me that, but you were looking so calm, i thought it was a kind of joke.

I can't sleep, i can't work, i can't eat, i just want to change this thing, i'm really thinking about killing Paul, no kidding. I hate this feeling of powerless, this time i wanna do something. I know that my option isn't the most "correct" one, but i swear i prefer to be in jail or dead than to see the Paul as a pig, you can't imaging how impressive he/it is already.
Matt, i think i'm in fact able to do it. I think I could do anything, it was too hard, i have the images in my head, dancing around the whole day: Paul is becoming a pig.
I'll try to do it today Matt, i hope i'll do it. You must forgive me Matt, Paul is becoming a pig and i'm becoming crazy.

yours,

Anna

Se acabO el mundial

No sE si serAn las altas temperaturas o el hecho de haber tomado las costumbres alemanes de bannarme cada fin de semana. Tal vez aparte de mis precarias costumbres de higiene tambiEn estE la genEtica, pues recuerdo con cierta impresiOn una mannana en la ninnez en la que abrI un cajOn de medias de mi hermano, y un extravagante olor a perro muerto inundO la habitaciOn por tres semanas. Depronto, ademAs de mi poco higiene, los 40 grados del verano y la genEtica, estA tambiEn el hecho de comer quesos franceses, cuyo olor tan destacado probablemente se concentra en los pies. Pero, seguramente la razOn por la cual tengo semenjante pecueca, que ya me posee, es el mundial de fUtbol. Mi fiebre futbolIstica ha sido tal que ando en el dIa a dIa con guayos, llevo 30 dIas con la misma camiseta de la selecciOn X (prefiero no mencionar su nombre) que no participO en el mundial, y a pesar de los 40 grados mencionados uso medias de lana hasta las rodillas, por lo que mis pies sudan un poco mAs de lo normal, lEase: estAn siempre hUmedos. El olor ha llegado a un punto exasperante, no puedo ya dormir, mi compannero de apartamento se quejO preguntAndome si estaba coleccionando desechos orgAnicos, mi novio me dejO despuEs de querer darme un masaje en los pies y la Unica amiga que tengo no me perdona lo de los guayos. La felicidad de poder perder mi vida frente al televisor viendo los Unicos hombres que problabemente huelen peor que yo, correr detrAs de un balOn se acabO, no mAs guayos ni pie de atleta, no mAs dieta de salchicha, no mAs cerveza diaria ni medias de lana. Los Unico que quedan son los 40 grados y las mil tareas pospuestas por 64 partidos.