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Bed, sun, budget

Modifié le : 2019/07/20

After two polar days of scratch­ing our skin against cold walls, the tem­per­a­tures final­ly soft­ened. It is now 11 ˚C out­side, 23 ˚C in my room, the sun man­ages to throw its heat to my skin even if, when a cloud pass­es, the ghosts of win­ter man­age to make me shiver.

The same goes for my bud­get that I decide to do. It was one minute to mid­night when I decid­ed to go to work. Let’s say the patient is sta­ble, although the columns of num­bers in front of me are clouds on the sun of my hopes.

The sit­u­a­tion is both calm and frag­ile. Like the rest of them. Tomor­row I could slide down the stairs, tomor­row I could die in my dreams, tomor­row I could see every­thing in black. And tomor­row, I could have won the lottery.

In the oth­er col­umn, the one that can­not real­ly be count­ed as finan­cial plan­ning, there is my exis­tence, my achieve­ments, the hap­pi­ness of being naked in a warm bed, the refrig­er­a­tor stuffed with food, the nov­el in the mak­ing, the voice in talk­ing, the heart in mad­ness, so many beau­ti­ful promis­es and certainties.

In anoth­er col­umn, just as intan­gi­ble, are the con­tra­dic­tions of my being, the con­vo­lut­ed, beau­ti­ful but still unsta­ble sit­u­a­tions, the mul­ti­ple demands, the survival.

On a wire.

The abyss is deep.

It always will have been. I’m not mak­ing this up. It is described, wor­shipped, defend­ed, and com­plained about for thou­sands of years.

It is bet­ter to look, feel the sun, think that tomor­row there will still be some­thing to live for, that tomor­row and today it is the same thing, that you have to keep qui­et while talk­ing as loud as pos­si­ble. Accept and resist, always do the oppo­site of your oppo­site, rock with ver­ti­go and cling to the thick clouds of the care­free free­dom to live.

My words are alive. What a miracle.

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