I've turned twenty four recently, and I feel a little bit bizarre. The older I am the more I feel that the life is such an ungraspable thing. I don't know whether I can express my feelings fairly enough but I can at least try. My blog became something like my diary anyway. So many things were written, some of them way too personal to be shared. That's the thing which every blogger just has to undergo at some point. But for me it works. If I would like to avoid being personal I would have to stop writing it at all for I perceive as personal even the sharing of my thoughts about books I've read... Well now, I don't know. The whole thing about me living in London is still kind of unbelievable. Most of the time I don't even realize it. I wake up every morning, I drink my cup of coffe, I get dressed and then I leave my flat to go to work where I meet my coworkers and we talk about books and our lives and we serve our customers. And sometimes I meet authors of books I read. It was when I was reading Portobello Road that Julian Mash suddenly appeared in our bookshop with his sweet smile on his lips about which me and my colleagues were swooning till the end of the day. Some days are very exciting and some of them are forgotten right the next week. Every day is somehow different, though, and that's what I like about this work the most. But the thing about too much excitement is that sometimes everything feels surreal, you know. These exciting moments remind me where I am and what I am doing and all of it seems past belief. And sometimes I have this feeling that even before I know it I will be somewhere else, looking back at my life in London, and I will ask myself: "Has it really happened or has it been just my imagination?"