Sixth Page

 

Still Thursday.  Still at work. There’s no much time to leave. A friend of mine sent me a picture of our high-school; it was a photo of the entrance. I’m mot sure it looked like that back then but as he commented at the bottom of it: I can even get the smell of new notebooks and sharpened pencils. I had already said it: throw back Thursday for these lines. There are some other kinds of lines I remember, but not for throwing back at all. When it comes to evocate,  I have a preference for dermis, so I can touch my lips with my fingertips and remember. Duty is calling.  I’m almost done.  Home. Time to go to bed. Friday is announced. Two glasses of wine to close the day and check its balance. Hope makes me think everything will work out. Saturday morning.  We were talking about some people we’ve been seeing, and how this sort of friendship went away for no reason. Actually there were reasons indeed,  and that’s what I wanted to break down if I don’t forget it first. The thing when your passion is not on the same page your duties are, is that the time’s equation doesn’t fit right; properly: duties always come first, passion tends to be, at most, and unavoidably, our second best. Sometimes off sense, and not counting when it’s off inspiration. Then passion must conform itself to have a moment upon chance. That’s its best opportunity.  Opportunity is quite a word, specially for immigrants. Back to the friendship, it’s important to bring up that an immigrant is always in a – let’s say – survivor mode on,  thus anything can be potentially prompted for taking advantage of. And that means, or at least it's what I’m trying to express,  that whatever experience at (or with) about  anything worthwhile to tell, it may be heard alongside with this encrypted, and hateful message to me, which sort of states that: if he had it, I must have it too, so we never know actually when we are just heard, if ever at all. It could be a misunderstanding,  I have never discarded it, but intonation; intonation and body language, they hardly get wrongfully understood. 

 

Monday. Not much to do at work. And at this time of the year that’s kind of worrying,  considering that bills don’t go down because of it, and with such thoughts I’ve made it to the next day. A new routine starts today. I was watching some media. I got really nothing from it. I tried to stop between the conflict in Gaza and the political situation of my country: the one true contender has been finally accepted; officially accepted,  by the people. I was reading that it may not be so due to some disagreements that were not taken in consideration,  along with the constant legal repercussions that many people insist to bring up. That is, just for the record,  that the woman in question is not entirely free from the government restrictions, who still insist on an imposed sanction several years ago. The media, the social media, through these influencers, and opinion heroes, are squeezing the topic up to a point I started losing interest. I feel bad for it but I can help it: an issue, a problem, any social matter, should not be brought up for perpetual amusement and constant losing of focus, specially when it comes as news, moreover when it’s about what’s going on back home. That is like a drug, it is making us come back to it over and over without a stable criteria. We love today, we hate tomorrow: the post-truth era at its best. It’s exhausting, really. We have work to do and a life gone distant from it, despite how bad our hearts won’t let it go. A big worry is getting smaller, that means it’s getting close to overcome. I’m not taking it for granted but certainly I have some sort of a plan working on. Thursday,  throw back Thursday once more for this narrative. We made to Saturday.  Heartburn and nausea; an unbeatable couple to keep one up and away from bed. It hasn’t been a night to rest. I can’t stop thinking about my worries, specially while sitting here, and perhaps this is making the pain worse. I don’t know. This life, this routine we end up following (thinking it will get better someday) has this feature I’m listening to quite often: use it or lose it, and of course, it applies to resting as well. Today it won’t be like: well, I haven’t slept enough, let me rest for the day. No. It doesn’t work that way. There are several things that must be done during the day, and their due time is now. I guess I’ll rest tonight if I feel better. Two songs come to my mind: A hard day’s night, and Sunday bloody Sunday. That’s how I summarize the day so far. I’m still having twists in my stomach every time I get sip of water, for example.  Perhaps I should go to the doctor, but I have reached this point in which, if the pain won’t get worse, I will just bear with it. There’s no way I will pay anything for something gone after a couple of days.