Count the present days until today arrives (ME in 2016)

 She wanted to implicate me in the obsessive flesh of her psychological maneuvers and bring me back to keep me in this world by her side. What a world! What a woman! The exaltation I derived from such a situation served, above all, to elevate her to the heights she so longed for. From all this resulted incredible feats of culture, emerging from the melancholy into which the situation plunged me. The biliousness of our relationship transformed my intellectual "comfort zone" into a radical process of lust and "kultury." ----- Kulturnáia, a more appropriate word for the Russian term "kultury." An expression of a higher reality claiming its rights from our "byt" so absolutely and intensely in every concrete situation that I easily understood the fatalism of the Russian soul, from Pushkin to Solzhenitsyn, passing through Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Chekhov. Russia, until now, had only produced fatalistic writers. The greatest of all time. Not even in Russia's capital was it possible to find a minimal sensitivity to the value of time, despite all the historical rationalization of politics and militarism. I could even say that minutes, for Russians, are an overdose that never satisfies them, that they "get drunk on time," as the poet Charles Baudelaire (.) ------, I said. At that moment, Anna could fall to her knees and pray for my attention, and I wouldn't give in. The theft of my time, for me, was always a real and unbearable theft. It's true that even a dominated man, becoming creative, can face any obstacle of domination, but deep within me there was a smooth field, a sliding plane where many hunters, with contradictory intentions, were vying for my time like those vying for the last Coca-Cola in the desert. Before Anna and her contortions, her maneuvers, I was an uncontrollable force of nature being subjected to a marriage aptitude test in the American way, pragmatic and non-didactic. She had incorporated the Protestant spirit of the Americans into her head. For her, the high flights of my thought often needed to be punished in the name of a "greater good" ----- totally Christian and matchmaking ----, so great was the evil of the Americanophile desire to "help" and so unnerving was her liberal spirit of "explaining things." The psychopathology of education in the United States was present in the neuroses of all American citizens, not just those born in America, from the nursery to the grave. All immigrants became this way over time, and Anna's intransigence had nothing Polish about it at that moment. She would risk everything to remain right, transforming many provisional meanings within our conversations into decisive monuments erected in favor of her biological strength and her sexual obsessions of domination. ------ Even knowing that you only look down on me, I cannot deny that you represent for me an incomparable experience for the sense of touch (.) -----, I said, putting my manuscript in my pocket. Anna watched me silently, smiling wryly, while holding her wrists in her hands, her forearms crossed over her chest to prevent her robe from opening. Despite the tie at the waist, I could see the swell of her breasts and the prominent veins around them. At the corners of her mouth, now that another of her mischiefs had been accomplished, appeared a sadistic expression of satiety. The back of her neck was strong, and below it appeared a mature ridge of the back. A grown woman, with very well-proportioned legs and arms.