I'm listening to the album 'Le Voyage Dans La Lune' by the French electronic music band AIR, which is a little wonder, and I'm escaping. I'm running from something I don't know what it is but I know I don't want to face. My head is a 3 ring circus in which I am the presenter, the clowns and the public at the same time.
Deep down I know what's wrong with me, but diving deep to find out doesn't excite me in the least. Those trips to the depths of myself are the most dangerous. Over the years I have set so many traps that I am worthy of an Indiana Jones movie, or the adventurer of your preference.
I am a civil war full of traitors. A minefield created by all and none of all that I am and inhabit me. And moments like this in which I unfold myself, multiply myself, make myself present with all of them as accomplices and witnesses, I don't like them at all. I don't like them because my parts form sides, unexpected alliances, and start fighting each other. And that stresses me out, wears me out, and what's worse: it defines me.
Some try to reason with me and encourage me to embark on the journey into the unknown that involves finding out what's wrong with me. While others offer me a large number of options to distract myself and pretend that nothing is happening. And I must admit that they are very good at it. The catalog of options is almost infinite, and free with a lifetime guarantee, or until the hell takes you. Whichever comes first.
I just let out a long sigh, which means... I don't really know what it means, but it sounded pretty dramatic so it must not be a good thing. I usually write to understand this kind of thing. Insomnia, mood swings, sudden unjustified joys, and long sighs, among many other manifestations of my subconscious. But today it doesn't seem to work at all.
There are always alcohol, or sex as emergency resources. I do not mention drugs because I have always been very puritanical-cautious to get involved with them, and the truth is that they have never crossed my path, except for one night in a seedy club when the people at the next table were celebrating something and they offered it to those at my table. Fortunately I had just left because I felt unwell, otherwise maybe this would be another story, and my life too.
At least writing is relaxing me. I want to think that's good. The clowns left. Which is a good sign. And the trapeze artists have arrived, and those always entertain me a lot. Sometimes they drop some truths that weigh me down in order to achieve better somersaults. And I'm always ready to catch them before they shatter on the ground.
Hopefully today I'll be lucky and it will happen, if not I'll tell you, in the end the paper can hold up to everything, although whoever writes to you doesn't so much... and it's barely midnight and we're only in the second act.
