I know, I know I know.

I'm leaning and leering far too heavily on what others think of me and on you.

I should decide for myself, whether to have this six months travelling or whether to prepare for theatre school with working and reading plays.

Then there's you. At the moment I'm telling you everything in a single paragraph, what's bothering me most about my little world. You're half responding. It's a strange thing, this sort of talking, but I like it. I don't think you're about to open up any time soon, though if you did it would be a miracle.

If I could be called anything else I'd like the name Magdalena.

Martirio has a nice sound to it, but the meaning's off. Angustias is out of the question. Amelia and Adela are too light and airy sounding. I'm undoubtedly Magdalena.