Holidays have started but unfortunately it doesn’t mean I have a lot of free time... I'm trying hard to make all the things I wanted to do when I still had to prepare for the exams - I even made a list but it seems that days are too short and I hope I will be able to finish all of them until the end of summer...
I don't pay much attention to DA lately... It may seem silly, but I'm usually too tired or just don't want to get distracted being in the middle of my work on something. I'm sure you all understand
One of the things I love about vacations is that I can read a lot without having pangs of conscience that I should be doing something much more important. I'm a fantasy fan so if you would like to recommend me some little known fantasy books (I’ve read most of the well-known) that you found interesting I would be really grateful.
Like every year, I'm also going to Chełmno on 13th July (until 23rd) and after coming back I want to go to Greece but I'm still not sure whether it will be possible...

And I think that's all for now
Until the next journal entry
Karolina

P.S. I would like to share another poem with you. It's a bit connected with the book I’m reading now.

Edgar Allen Poe
"Alone"

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov'd — I lov'd alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —

Edgar Allen Poe
"W samotności"

Od lat dziecinnych zawsze byłem
Inny niż wszyscy - i patrzyłem
Nie tam, gdzie wszyscy - miałem swoje,
Nieznane innym smutków zdroje -
I nie czerpałem z ich krynicy
Uczuć - nie tak, jak śmiertelnicy
Radością tchnąłem i zapałem -
A co kochałem - sam kochałem -
To wtedy - nim w burzliwe życie
Zdążyłem wejść - powstała skrycie
Z dna wszelkich złych i dobrych dążeń
Ta tajemnica, co mnie wiąże -
Ze strumienia lub potoku -
Z urwistego góry stoku -
Z kręgu słońca, gdy w jesieni
Blednie złoty blask promieni -
Z błyskawicy ostrym końcem
Drzewo obok mnie rażącej -
Z burzy, grzmotów, ziemi drżenia -
Z chmury - która u sklepienia
Niebieskiego zawieszona -
Miała dla mnie kształt demona...

(tłumaczenie: Wojciech Usakiewicz)