These last few days I’ve been having some intellectual problems. I could say that they have always been there and that I’m habituated to them as a regular way of living -in fact I’m saying it-, but these last few days have influenced my conscious a bit more than usual. That’s why I thought that writing it would be a “novelty”. I’ve been reading some very interesting writings of some authors much more studied and smarter than me. I could perceive this equilibrated disturbance that led one of these writers to logically explain certain perspectives that are in no way easy to palpate with superficial reasoning. Anyway, the writer was capable of expressing what he wanted to express and to knit a point from the beginning of the chapter until the end of it. Something that has caused me certain unbalance en the process of understanding the reading, was that I felt somehow related with some phrases. Clearly I’m not trying to compare myself or trying to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, on the other hand, from the few that I could grasp, I realised that the disturbance that in a way was afflicting the writer, was also related with that strange environment that was rambling in my head. I have no idea of what was going on, and the weirdest thing was that the intellectual moods were calmed when reading specific phrases or sentences. It is worth saying that I was in the library, sitting in a previously seen and chosen corner by myself. A place that according to my criteria was appropriate to sit and read for a while. I imagine that it isn’t interesting to keep reading when there is nothing to focus in. Read closely, there is always something to focus in. There is always something that the writer wants to say, is just sometimes we are not capable of seeing it. There are times when we are not keen enough to enter into the writer’s mind. If we are bold enough -we must be-, we can think in what the author was thinking when he was writing what he was writing and at the same time to think in what we are reading as a linked but not necessarily the same message. The pianist that has an excellent first sight reading, starts to play the melody, the eyes see quavers, semiquavers, minims, crotchets, etc.. The fingers play the right key, you can feel the rhythm, the play is born… but the pianist is thinking: what a beauty, what a masterpiece, I hope I make no mistakes… She is not thinking in what she is playing, even though to the listener and to the observer, she is transmitting musical notes, melodic packs that make sense, that get to their receiver on time as if they were a especial delivery. It is understood here that to get to that feat, you have to master completely what you do. Fortunately, the writer I mentioned has done so. What was I thinking? I have no clue, but for a moment, even for the smallest amount of time and just for a few words,.. he read what he wrote to me live. Did I fell asleep? The carefully selected place of reading I chose gave me a nap? I think that these are the symptoms of the intellectual problem.