Fifth page III

 

Friday.  The black mirror in front of me. I don’t get to see me. I’m below its reflection.  I can see the painting on the wall and the lamp. A mirror is always good for putting thoughts in perspective.  You see, the painting and the lamp are actually on my back, but I can see them on the screen of the TV set now that is off. In a way, this might tell us that there could be anything behind us, either by chance, or by choice, and make it reflected right in our front, so we can take a look at it, stand up (and for, or against, why not) and see ourselves in it as well. Thus we can think again,  think again but not overthink, overthink is more like a condition,  and it triggers our neurosis,  which it’s already there, I know, specially on people used to the chaos, used to crisis, shortages, or whatever not-good-at-all sudden thing out of our foresight. I’m relaxed now. I have to go to work but I’m still on time for it. My neurosis levels are low for the moment,  unlike my hope; which is up high and I’m smiling while writing it down. First break. Everyone on their screens. To be honest, what else can we do? We kind of feel some pressure on being more social but there’s this endless carrousel of media material that keeps us looking nowhere else. Today, there’s no point on debating it. It is what it is. Break time has ended. We’re leaving early today. No payment for those hours. Let’s go back. A little something about our neurosis: we have this urge for an answer every time we send a message. It’s this tiny emperor-like pose we tend to adopt on waiting. We just can’t wait anymore. This has flourish in some way, I guess, because of the constant scrolling. For instance, I usually leave at 3:00 PM, not today, but the rest of the days I do so. Right at 3:0l PM I’m sending my wife the first message asking her how close she is from picking me up. That’s how we work on waiting these days. However,  when it comes to answer, that’s a whole different story: we want to be understood,  we want that the fact we might be busy stays implicit over the waiting time. Only that we feel impaired for switching roles, therefore no sympathy for anyone, on anything,  specially when scrolling on the screen of the phone. This is the society model nowadays. Many of our memories will just be left to an app feed, and some of them will just fade as the thump moves down, all that in no more than two, three seconds. I’m getting used to watching people looking at their screens.  It’s a terrible feeling: knowing you’re alone among people.  Loneliness has changed. Saturday afternoon.  Sunny after a rainy morning.  A few airplanes have gone by. I could tell for their sound. Long naps are plan killers. Don’t ever plan anything before taking a nap. There’s the balcony, for myself, but there’s a stronger force having me indoors: the power of the hesitation. I could grab something and prepare it for dinner, but I guess I rather hesitate and let time burn over the uncertainty.  Everyone else is still sleeping.  That’s why. The TV is on but there’s actually nothing running since it is an app for streaming.  There are just some figures moving back and forth and that’s it. Hangover: interesting word when it comes to translation. I mean, hang, as in hanging,  and over, as in entirely, it is like floating on your own after being drunk.  It’s an interesting way to see it. In my country we call it mouse, like Mickey,  and everyone understands it. It is actually a verb, so to make it somewhat possible in English, it would go like I am enmoused, or I have mouse, like I have fever. I don’t know where it may come from. The thing is I feel like I am enmoused still, or I’m still having this hangover, and I have to go to work. As a matter of fact,  I’m ready to be taken there, carrying all this bad disposition and headache, Wine was on Saturday,  it’s Monday but  I just had too much. Let’s say I had enough to spend the whole Sunday on recovery, but Sunday didn’t last enough for it. I had my first break already. I still feel a bit bad. I would say I won’t drink like that again but we never know, at least I can tell myself I hope not to since I’m wasting beautiful time. Let’s take out the garbage and take a shower. I’m home. It’s fine now, and cold too. I read a good article about the decay of the so called Venezuela se arregló. In order to bring up some context, it was a slogan promoted from the government, through its network of allegedly social media influencers and presumably famous people, who still live (and work, doing I don’t know what) there. The government,  let’s say, understood that whatever illusion we may fall into, must come from social media. Thus they made a whole world inside of it, and they made it so deep, that people abroad, specially young people, including people of my generation too, have started to believe it. Nostalgia pays great deal, I have no doubt about it, and,  added to Hope  both combined, it’s more a kind of strong drug, a drug many Venezuelans are getting addicted to. And just like that, there are many spellbound through their phones getting the latest news of this cool Venezuela nobody got to see back in the day.

 

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve seen and had a lot great things; great times, things that, obviously,  trigger our Nostalgia,  otherwise resentment would have swept it all, and I thought it did. I mean, when I was still there, there were a lot who ran away already, and the common grounds for most of them used to be hatred.  An annoying hatred,  to be honest. At that time, I felt more like: go live your life and leave us alone. Now I kind of understand it. I still have my doubts, but certainly it is a process of several and diverse steps. After a while, I became part of those who left as well, and I deal with the pain that what, and who, I missed and left constantly cause me, but also the joy, the joy of being away, of starting over, of a another chance; because there’s joy after those complaints, and a new life ahead too. Only that there’s also a lot of sensitivity, sensitivity born out of such runaways. New resentments have been coming up towards this make believe the government managed to establish… only for a while, That’s what the article was about: that the illusion is fading, like the smoke. Yes. Nevertheless, there must be something going on. It is too much coincidence that this kind of news were brought up in a moment of important political decisions, but on the other hand,  we’ve been fed up for more than twenty years with important political decisions, and here we are, still waiting, with our smoke faith with nothing but disappointment to recall. Third  break, ninety more minutes, and that’s it for the day. There’s a lot going on these days. Some voices are blurring me, and I can’t focus on these words I’m writing about. The room got quiet again. I can think and evocate, close my eyes a little bit and pretend I’m resting wonderfully.  I let my hand go over my neck in an attempt to get some relief but I can’t just let myself go since I may fall asleep and we’re here to work. The vision, my vision, gets blurry. Voices are rising loud again. I want to go home. I hope I can get some rest when I get there. I’m going to need it. Big day tomorrow. Several duties only for a day. I’m still at work, half of an hour to go but it is not now yet. I should use this time more wisely,  but I can’t.  Inspiration doesn’t work that way but at least it will find me working. I believe Picasso said that. We need to keep breaking down our process until we get to that point where we can state, once and for all, that from here – the place once found, whenever that may be – it’s where we can start over, thus help each other, and grow strong as a community. Sometimes I think it won’t be something from our generation. So let’s just help the next ones. I hope this sort written confession statement diary fiction story helps someday, sometimes, at some point. Meanwhile,  let’s keep on letting it go. Time to get a broom and sweep, not fly,  I’m not a witch. I’m home now. I hope I can get some rest right now.