Tenth Page VI

 

Pardon my mistakes indeed. Vulnerable,  I can’t stop feeling this way. Words get me hard sometimes. I know what else should I be doing… looking for another job, perhaps. I didn’t,  I haven’t.  I’m still holding on the idea that resources somehow will come by the time I get almost drowned.  I don’t want to feel like I’m drowning in any way. I want to feel the boring and beautiful comfort of playing the music I want – because I have made the right space for it – drinking what I want – I’m not a snub, I don’t drink expensive – and none of extra worries because what I make is fine to cover it all. Is it too much to ask? To wish for? Come on! The Motivation paradox: this is so tough on immigration matters, I mean, how often can we relate that if I can then you can and vice versa? It’s easy to follow that lead and end up lost or resentful.  Time is an asset here. My ear, the pain. It is taking that side of the teeth and I get this discomfort when chewing. It makes me swallow before chewing enough.  That’s how our body works: a located pain affects it all.  The failure trap; yes: the unnecessary need of saying than we learn from mistakes.  We do correct, and improve,  but it is always a constant to rely on. Many times it’s bad, and long-lasting. We question if we have failed. I question if I have failed. Chávez said: pero tenemos patria, as some sort of mantra to accept all the disaster in exchange of a so called independence: what independence, I Have always wondered. From whom? And the government wanted a war with Colombia, a war with Guyana. They couldn’t even made Trinidad pay due respect but that’s another story.  It’s Tuesday night. Time for bed. Sunlight has finally gone. Two ibuprofen for the pain after a beer. I’m neither sleepy nor relieved from the pain. I can’t open wide my mouth. The air conditioning is noisy. Too much power. It’s hot outside.  We always have to complain. I complain of so many things, like my bank account,  but I prefer to say a little and see if I can have a good fuck. Like I said, I have a lot complain. I felt this smell of rotten meat inside my mouth and I now hesitate if it comes from some food that never went down to the stomach or it is a sign that I better hurry with this. I don’t know. It’s time for bed. We’ll see.  Flushing the toilet; that is the end of every paragraph.   Parabola is sounding on TV.  The ear is hurting less but it is somewhat draining,  so it’s kind of disgusting. Not to me, I mean, we stand our own fliuds, right? The thing is when it comes to stand others’. We learn to stand, even enjoy, our couple’s. But it’s something we cultivate with time. It’s part of the life. I have mostly enjoyed. Wednesday sunset. It’s not entirely dark. I made this time, so I can serve a few words. I had a lette gathering of Venezuelans not so long ago. We were wondering if there was a single person we know who is still there and doing good. We started asking each other: who do you know: a friend, an aunt? We realized nobody is doing good. Nobody is doing like, so good. Nobody is, for instance stable. The people we know are mostly falling into three sort of categories.  The first one is those who maybe ever once had some contract with the government,  or whose families had it at some point and it worked out for a time. Those are the ones who might have held some money during a specific moment, those might have traveled once or twice from time to time. Those are the ones who still celebrates birthdays when they get paid. This is not a large group. The second category is more about those who never got emancipated, they still live and sometimes even depend on their parents. Those are the ones who might go out from time to time always considering their limitations. I have seen them go out for  drink a few times during the year. The third category is the saddest one: those who believed and stayed hoping for better times. Those live in anger nowadays, in resentment.  I know some. I feel bad for them.  Nevertheless,  it’s not that I’m in a better position so I can afford to feel sorry. I actually feel sorry for myself. I have stated more than once that what happened there was a purge, and we were forced to get out since we were at the wrong side of it. Fortunately for me, If I stayed, let’s say that I wouldn’t be writing this, for sure. Part of the population had to go. We didn’t know it then and when we knew it, we didn’t want to. Eventually we had to accept it and go on. No eggs. I totally forgot. Moring doesn’t start right when the routine is abruptly changed. Not a good sign. We’ll see. Not bad yet but I don’t truth this calm. Something will come up. There’s always the potential argument about lack of money,  about working a lot to have so little. Poor people master these things: attitude over adversity. Only that adversity is overwhelming because of the basics; you see, the poor tend to be forced to struggle with tiny pleasures such as having a steak or buying a dress in exhibition. For the poor these are matters of overthinking. We don’t know if that money is already compromised. Pleasing such desires are bold, so then a discussion about it will surely come up.  I’m still surprised. Nothing yet. Today is to commemorate, to pay respect. I hope you have her, God. I hope you have them both. No more changes of that kind, please. I just need a little push. Bless us all. Thank you!