So this summer

So this summer is going to finish and I'm still not sure of what exctally happened. My remembering faculties are a little damaged this period, so I think it's better if I write every day, which it means I have to keep a diary of my summer records, and them put all togheter like a puzzle.
The rembering-mental-summer-puzzle.
Right now, I only have the pieces of the borders. You know, those pieces that have a flat side, the ones that makes the frame of the puzzle. The ones that you find firstly.
So my situation is: sittin in my hideout with just the desklamp on, my table covered of tabacco, history books, lighters, notebooks, and so on.
And, under the white-sharp-desklamp-light, the summer puzzle.
If you see me standin on the hideout entrance, there's me bowing on the puzzle, whispering: 'God', repeatedly.
Hagel said that philosophy arrived like the hoot owl, that brought an intepreting light after the fact happened. Now, I don't know about philosophy I'm not, you know, a philosopher, but I hope that is the same in everyday life, you understand what happened after it happened, not while it was happening.
Maybe Hegel, he would already has interepreted my summer.
So while I'm trying to combine my summer into a complete puzzle, Johnny Cash is singing We'll meet again, and I should be studying.

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when,
but I know we'll meet again some sunny day!
Keep smiling through, just like you always do,
'till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away!
So, will you please say hello to the folks that I know?
Tell them I won't be long!
They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go,
I was singin' this song:
We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when,
but I know we'll meet again some sunny day!
So, will you please say hello to the folks that I know?
Tell them I won't be long!
They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go . . .
I was singin' this song:
We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when,
but I know we'll meet again some sunny day!
We'll meet again, we'll meet again . . .

Sorry for grammatical errors

Bob Dylan has written this

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

- Bob Dylan, Shelter from the storm