Amazingly, until this afternoon I had entered a bar, cafeteria, winch or tavern since 2010. Today, however, I did it in three. And there he was, waiting, the last blow of the season: the happy anti-snuff law.
I do not care to argue, even reason. Others have done well, or will do better or worse, these days. Which would be better as well: o I am much mistaken, or prohibition swallow us with the same apathy with which we are swallowing so much lately. I save list.
No, I do not want to reason. Because, basically, is a matter of mood. O discouragement to be precise. A kind of painful nostalgia, a longing suddenly all that will never happen again around a coffee table or a bar. All that. And I will not settle for having lived, with long delight, from the far nineties until last week. I refuse to understand (to think) that I can not do this again, no one with whom I once shared the incomparable pleasure of rushing glasses and ashtrays flooding (my parents, Paolo, Chus, Rebe ...) may be repeated. Plus: I can not re-share those moments with myself sometimes critical, sometimes miraculous, sometimes simply empty other purpose or another that was not putting the semicolon to life that thing that, in case anyone has forgotten, none of us decided to voluntarily implement, and sometimes cries out in parentheses. All that I feel (not think, feel), especially (with a period of infantile rage, all right, but that is me) it's not fair, but very depressing.
To top: I hate smoking outdoors, with few exceptions. I hate even in summer. I hate the smoke swirling together long runs without me, I hate that cigarettes are consumed by the stupid emergency brought wind and rain. And if the accounts out for me, I only have three or four places to take refuge from future storms.
Indeed. Today, no bars smelled of snuff, yes. One smelled of oil, one of sweat, all (without exception) to boredom.
Oh, and the record, in case anyone is wondering. I have my wishes, yes. But the desire to quit.
I do not care to argue, even reason. Others have done well, or will do better or worse, these days. Which would be better as well: o I am much mistaken, or prohibition swallow us with the same apathy with which we are swallowing so much lately. I save list.
No, I do not want to reason. Because, basically, is a matter of mood. O discouragement to be precise. A kind of painful nostalgia, a longing suddenly all that will never happen again around a coffee table or a bar. All that. And I will not settle for having lived, with long delight, from the far nineties until last week. I refuse to understand (to think) that I can not do this again, no one with whom I once shared the incomparable pleasure of rushing glasses and ashtrays flooding (my parents, Paolo, Chus, Rebe ...) may be repeated. Plus: I can not re-share those moments with myself sometimes critical, sometimes miraculous, sometimes simply empty other purpose or another that was not putting the semicolon to life that thing that, in case anyone has forgotten, none of us decided to voluntarily implement, and sometimes cries out in parentheses. All that I feel (not think, feel), especially (with a period of infantile rage, all right, but that is me) it's not fair, but very depressing.
To top: I hate smoking outdoors, with few exceptions. I hate even in summer. I hate the smoke swirling together long runs without me, I hate that cigarettes are consumed by the stupid emergency brought wind and rain. And if the accounts out for me, I only have three or four places to take refuge from future storms.
Indeed. Today, no bars smelled of snuff, yes. One smelled of oil, one of sweat, all (without exception) to boredom.
Oh, and the record, in case anyone is wondering. I have my wishes, yes. But the desire to quit.
0 comments:
Post a Comment