This was actually written yesterday

I received this morning my bronze trophy from the International Society of Poetry engraved with the following inscription: “Outstanding Achievement in Poetry Awarded to: Boris F. Amar.” It follows: “On this 15th day of August, 2004, by the International Society of Poetry.” Along with my trophy, I was granted a membership card with my name on it that expires on September, 2005; also, a golden dark medallion and a 100 dollars discount certificate for any future convention before 2005. I am not as thrilled as the occasion would merit. It’s an achievement, nonetheless. In a little while, I’ll send my sister in Colombia her weekly pension. I received word from Paola, my other sister who lives here in New York that my Colombian sister lost her job and times are hard. Luckily, she still gets to finish her college semester. Aside from my small contribution to them, I just completed a 45minute aerobic session. I spoke to Jorge, my friend in Queens, about the possibility of publishing ourselves a book of mine. He seemed enthusiastic about the idea and even offered me input and financial support. I will work on this project for the next few months and then I will seek out the best online deal to market my work. What a great time to be alive.
Now, later at night, I’m listening to a selection of music that consists of five compact disks playing at random, some of which have different artists, including the ones I had said to buy today: Juanes’ latest album, Mi Sangre, and Franco de Vita’s Stop. I shall listen and then decide whether they were worth the economical effort. I was kind of thirsty for something fresh but musically inclined to give a vote of confidence over new bands. Besides, the last time I satisfied my adventurous taste. I bought an album of greatest hits by Jimmy Hendrix. That was just an enormously delayed tribute. Constructively, I indulge in my senses, have a nice cold beer and some great music, if you happen to smoke, smoke. We work for the fun part of life. This has been nothing more than sheer pleasure. Tomorrow, a long day of simple minded labor awaits me. Now it’s time to turn my attention to the party. The one they have inside.

This is today:

Now that I have listened to both albums, I regret to inform that Franco de Vita's effort is of a far, greater quality than Juanes'. I am now immersed into household chores. The one I had left forever unattended: the closet full of correspondence, manuscripts, letters, ancient stuff.