Waiting is the hardest part. Meanwhile Instagram is
firing me with all these debt relief programs. I am tempted, I’m really tempted. Sometimes I fill out the
whole application and then I regret and take it back. The cost of living is the
cost of life. I’m overwhelmed by my thoughts; the things I could do if, if
only, but just only if, but no, not so far at least. I need to figure out why I have this sense of
remorse for things I didn’t mean to. It is so tiring to explain myself over the
intentions of whatever I’ve done. It weakens me. Explain my intentions feels
like I did something wrong or bad and I must justify it. If it’s bad, it’s
fine, someone needs an explanation, but
what about those things beyond control. I came to pick up someone and that someone
is not ready yet, do I have to feel bad for this time I’m waiting? I know I
don’t, but I do, and I need to understand this impulse for explanation. Nobody
cares, it doesn’t matter. I have to put this in different perspectives. Meanwhile I remain regretful for not knowing
how I should have done this or that. I can’t have a problem everyday, please. There’s wine waiting. I just wish to
be at home already. Why wine forces people to say things they can’t keep as true
statements. It gets boring. Annoying. I gave it all. It is amazing. I am sure,
completely sure, I gave it all, and I gave it all for nothing. It’s hard to accept it. It was for nothing,
but let’s leave that for later. Now I’m just waiting to get some sleep, to find
hope elsewhere, perhaps focus on my boy’s voice; my boy’s smile, and stick with
it. Nothing else matters, I guess, and I remain poor; that’s important to bring
up; when you are poor, daily things become a drama. Rich people convey their
art through higher states and dimensions, the poor, on the contrary, they play like
they reach such a high level by exposing their miseries. We feel this need to
tell everyone how bad we want to feel understood, ad we want to do that in a
world where nobody cares. A whole drama. What are we going to do about it? Drink
and bear. Next day tends to be next in several ways. Who knows? It could be my
lucky day. Saturday morning. Gray like rain is coming anytime. A bit chilly but
nothing unboreable with a sweater on. Coffee, balcony and birds singing; louder
than other days, by the way. I can hear a few steps around. I was given another
chance, that’s how God works. I must honor such a trust vow somehow, and I need
to find the wisdom for it. My thoughts are not wise, and my ideas are not
profitable in any sense. These very words won’t give me nothing to bring to my
table, and yet I still come here and write some for my own realization. I
wonder where this impulse; the insistence, comes from, given the fact that I am
not the pushing kind. I’m more like introvert, I have this sort of condition that
hits me every time which is called – I looked at it – over-explaining,
and it is actually a trauma. Apparently we develop this when we are constantly made
feel a fault. So we grow up always in search for approval. I’m not totally sure
if that’s my case, but now I know it is an issue, and as such, I must take a
look at it at least. Nevertheless I just go on with my things and it seems that
today (and tonight) there will be wine and eat out. And I will get sad again
for sure: what a cycle! But we are not there just yet. Let’s rise ad shine
despite the gray.
Still loving you is just an amazing song, just like Comfortably
numb. The solos, both solos, accompanied with a glass of wine, to listen
then Stairway to heaven, the live version from The Song remains the
same; watching my boy playing with my mom’s phone. This is my hallmark. My
wife is coming to add some love to this scene. Now it’s time for thoughts to
fly across the oneiric world I may create for them to flourish, thrive, or
burst, depending on the dream. Tomorrow will be another day. Another Sunday.
Let’s see. Let’s see indeed. Sunny, a bit chilly and quiet, except of course
for the birds, and an airplane, which is coming right away, followed by the
sound of a car running slowly: this is the song for those already awake at this
time. I’m starting to get the sound of the elliptical machine too, I think I
have mentioned at some point. I have a coffee, creamy but not sweet. Not
sweetener for the first one I’m trying to state, and it has worked out pretty
well so far since I started it. These sort of rituals, now presented as routines,
help me – us, I believe – understand a bit more every time about my space-time
relation with the environment I’m surrounded by. Birds’ singing is fading, for
example, that means more people are
coming out, and that the morning is on for everyone. Indoors time, coffee is
not over yet. I got this cool Star Wars mug with light sabers design, which
shows the sabers on while the liquid inside remains hot. It’s a pretty nice
thing to have. It was a gift from a good friend last summer, not the summer just over but the one from
last year. I met him during a trip. We
had a great time. Back in the balcony. Quiet, as I’m not used to. Another
coffee, same mug, it became my everyday mug at home ever since. The weather
can’t be nicer: sunny but not hot. I think I’m just giving myself this time for
contemplation, I actually have nothing to write about, I mean, I’m always
wondering why and how on several things floating inside my head. Some of them I
just don’t know how to let out, but it’s not something I want to write about
just now, maybe later. Later is not just yet. Later could be now, but I remain
wordless for my ideas to become Text. Farewells are hard. I’m still trying to
serve something about it, but not just yet I think. I’m still in the process of
understanding some moves from certain people. In the meantime I would like to
wonder why the exchange of own time over work done has this tendency for unjust?
How do people actually realize they are doing more than what they get paid for?
What is that thing that triggers our perception and takes us there? Because
once there, there’s no turning back. It is kind of cruel in its own way. But
now wine has done some damage, to the point of dizziness and will for confessing. There’s coffee,
decaf, because of the hour, but enough to withhold this impulse on over talking.
We call it ultra petita, in law school. Everyone is in their room, so
there’s no audience for uncomfortable confessions based on wine. Let’s get
quiet, tomorrow it will hard and we have to work too. The air conditioning is
going crazy with this weather. So I am.
Let’s just go to bed. No balcony, too early, early Monday. A farewell is
coming. We must be on time to stop by and keep going. Things look slow at work. A tense calm
followed by the uncertainty of what will happen in the next few days.
Supervisors don’t say a word. There is this sound I can hear and, I might
guess, it is someone mopping the floor, there is a bucket falling down from
some stairs, or so I hear. Two guys laughing and telling each other a story, a
story I don’t care, but I have to listen to it. We should close our ears the way we close our eyes. Some things
are just worthless to listen to and yet we have no choice for it. It’s not like when we don’t want to see something.
The Power, wearing any of its faces, takes advantage of that. Power tends to
find the way to get to our ears and makes us listen to those things we don’t
want, and does it as many times as necessary, until we assimilate it, and then
be pushed to believe and accept,
because, eventually, we all
accept it. There are plenty of examples throughout history. It happens with
music too. What people call music nowadays is incredible. Most of the music I
like comes from a joint effort of minds working together in an attempt of expression,
and that doesn’t mean they must say something in a song. Sometimes it has more
to do with the way they play the instrument,
or that, plus the musician put in a specific part of the song. Having
that, getting that, it’s just sublime, provocative,
