Eleventh page VI

 

We have this say in Venezuela that goes as those who drink on Mondays, will drink the whole week. So here I am, with my glass of wine to start my week and avoid and procrastinate. Watching a children show and singing those songs now that I know them by heart. Still daytime, I’m hungry.  Chuleta Ahumada, for dinner. We lived to fight another day, let’s worry tomorrow.  Wine is gone and we’re having this warm sense that makes us think and talk like wisdom we’re sone sort of totem we are holding by the hand just now.  Alcohol does that. It does that to at least. Now I feel like I have words to offer, a metaphor to build with letters, letters taking the place of bricks and make a division:

There you are,

Writing me

Not knowing I’m reading you

I’m taking your words just for myself

And myself only. 

Because you read my silence

And I imagine your verb

I imagine your verb in my flesh

Like Cerati,

Like my morning desire

Desire it is

Desire it will be

Here it is

There you are…

 

Now it’s time to take a shower.  Words are coming in. It is the mixed up between what I want and what I have, and how to keep going with it since they are excluding each other.  Today I laugh at the things I haven’t achieved.  The sun hasn’t left the day as hope hasn’t left me despite everything.  Caracas of my heart. Oh Caracas! Twenty years ago I was 25, starting a new job with a new spirit, all fallen into the music, into the Japanese anime, with a cigarette and a beer, and having sex as much as I could stand. I met with my limits, in my ways. Worries had then nothing to do with money, or time. It was more about what I felt, how I felt, what I wanted then and the path I took for it. It seems like another life now, like another person. I feel like I can’t join both times, not even in my head. Not even for a narrative. How far have we changed? How big has the government changed our lives? The present is something different.  All memories poured into a phone app, into pictures that don’t store enough. I can’t find what I felt there, not always,  not today. I’m afraid not anymore.  The oblivion is full of memories, someone said…  The noises of the duty are knocking on my day, my night; good night then!  The tell-tale heart, by Soda, not Edgar Allan Poe. Los vestigios de una hoguera,  again, this morning, why not! It’s my life’s soundtrack, anyway…

 

A cup of coffee. Tuesday morning. Am I ready? I am. It’s just this way I am that makes me nervous.  Duty calls. See you later! Panic attack, was it though? I don’t think so but it felt pretty close. I couldn’t breath and I felt like I was dying. It lasted less than minute. The good thing is that I know it when it comes, so I’m not actually afraid. I jut learned how to live with it. Why didn’t she get the chance to prove herself? There must be a way out where judgment is not only by first look. What if my potential isn’t up front? Will I be condemned to rejection at every interview? To shine, we need a chance. If only we could, and if only I weren’t this poor…  Well. I can’t be lamenting all the time. You already know it’s there, and I know it’s here. I’m going to try to move on with it. Afternoon is here. Almost time to go. Everything worked out this morning. I actually want some more. It's time. I’m hungry for it. Three Doors Down in my ear. Good pictures to remember the day.  Replication crisis, or how we tend to get lose trying to prove a point. Has this text provided a solid statement? I don’t think so, but we have to try, try, and keep trying.  Despite the dissatisfaction. Despite being unable to put smiles on their faces. I don’t want to keep feeling sorry for myself. I need to think this is temporal. My hand hurts, my thumb hurts. I don’t know.  Perhaps my body has found other parts to manifest, but I can help it. I can’t help the bear of the disappointment.  Over and over. Over and over. Please, please! 

Eleventh page V

 

My ear, my other ear. A little discomfort started this morning.  Nothing to worry I guess. Nevertheless my ears itch when I’m preoccupied, when I can’t stop thinking about something.  This is one of the manifestations of my body, telling me that I’m unable to take anything else, or I will get sick. It’s Saturday.  Morning time. A great big arepa for breakfast. It was just delicious. Thanks, mom for it! I should play more the ambassador role for our arepas, my workmates are waiting for it. It’s just this lack of money that turned everything into nothing, since I have to think about problems first. I’m tired to put it in words. It’s boring. I wish I could wipe them out as I’m about to do with my ass. See you later!

 

I’m back where I stopped it. Back in place, back in moment. There has to be some way. I don’t feel like writing.  I guess I’m just going to play some music. My ears are not bothering and everyone is taking a nap. I need chocolate.  I spent all I had and didn’t get any treat for myself.  Let’s go back to the music. Let’s get away from this white noise. Saturday night. We had a great time. The pause from concerns that we need so bad. Fortunately,  we had it. Fortunately we can go to bed no thinking about the problems for once. There will be time tomorrow.  Tomorrow we’ll get back to it, to the problems,  our perpetual invaders. Good night!

 

I love the way toddlers make you get time. When the naughtiness is taking place, the perception of time is critical, worrying,  sometimes even desperate. It's kind like an imminent danger to face and be always ready for it. After it passes, we remember it as something to laugh about, and smile at it in further occasions when bringing it up as a story to tell. I want to call it The dual face time on toddlers. A face time indeed.  I think about time a lot. It’s kind of a mystery itself. The way we sometimes talk about it: I don’t have time, I spend some time. We get this sense through words – and therefore thoughts – that time is something we control or we can have. I have heard people claiming they are the owners of their own time. I wonder if there is some sort of vessel where some time can be saved for later, for a special occasion. Like a PTO in life: I have saved a week in my life this far so I can go to Venezuela and spend it with my loved ones there. We all know there is no such a thing, but we insist in treating time as an asset we can trade with. An asset it is, for sure. But it’s not for us to dispose. It is just going by, and we go by with it. What about fate? Does it just go by like time or it is actually something we work on? I have heard too that we are the owners of our own destiny. It is worth to wonder. After several moves, fate seems to me like square one back again. Like an 8 bit video game. All over once more. How many times we’ll be back to the same point? As many as time allows,  so this is a fate-time equation, and we are the dash that relate both terms, I guess.

 

We are prone to confuse vulnerability with weakness and use our sensitivity at will. Sometimes it is not what bothers us but how we use such discomfort and what for. There’s always something derived from a previous incident. I would like to say I have taken advantage of it but I have this tendency to be at the other side and that’s how I know it. I have no hard feelings at it. It is what it is. I have to prioritize.  My mind can’t store that much. I let many things go because of it. At the end it might be a good thing.

 

The fallacy of the sacrifice. Interesting to think about. So central rain on TV. I’m not sorry, really, but I wanted to leave it written: this is no chance. Again, sensitivity at will.  The reward. The fact that we need to make up rewards to do what we do is hard. I’m not sure if it is necessary but we do. Up to certain point we need to believe that all of this happen for a better tomorrow; otherwise we become cynical, and cynical doesn’t work for future endeavors. Those with kids can’t afford cynicism.  We must believe,  whether rewarded or not, but we have to believe. We have to believe and pass it through as a life lesson.  Despite the disappointments, despite the things we bear, despite the patience tested to its limits; we must believe. This very text is a confession,  a confession of faith, a confession to God. The journey has a lot of stops, a lot of hard moments,  a lot crying in silence, but it has a lot of hope as well. I don’t know. I’m delusional. Perhaps I’m just used to being mocked and humiliated. Perhaps these words don’t make any sense at all. Sometimes we just want a piece of chocolate, or a glass of wine, and we start saying a bunch of nonsense just because we have not yet satisfied our appetite. 

 

Unsatisfied appetite moves a lot, as much as a country in crisis. About crisis. How is Venezuela on this day? It’s hard to understand it from a simple  angle and each one of us is suffering on their own way. Who isn’t,  anyway? Monday afternoon. Wordless. Wordless too often to my taste. I was waiting for my soundtrack to let me know what’s next and what would it tell me of my feelings. Square Hammer. I don’t even know what it means but I love the beat of the song. Perhaps my constant worries are somehow drained by the music I listen to. Perhaps listening to music and dreaming about playing, keep me standing against this wave of failures and lack of money.  I don’t have ghosts, I have debts, and they can be thoughts  consuming. Maybe that’s why I’m getting dumber and not because of the Instagram. I don’t know.  Should I get another coffee? Why not! It is actually one of the fewest thing that I still can chose by myself. That and imagine myself in better scenarios. Scenarios where I can make it, where I can dispose and send away; where I shut mouths and enjoy my own silence. When will it happen? Will it be in this life? I’m not as young as I used to feel.  Perhaps that’s what happens to overweight.  Since people feel they are not going to make it at whatever they’re working for, the brain takes the only attribute the body can provide: food. A lot of food to fulfill the lack of satisfaction, and a lot sugar to mitigate the envy on those who actually made it. I’m getting heavier and I think I know why. Fuck it!