Is that aging?

Modifié le : 2019/07/20

I was not real­ly focus­ing my atten­tion on some­thing. It was still rain­ing at the begin­ning of the evening, i had this lit­tle cold that weighs down the blad­der, tick­les the nose and bugs the throat. In the office, the air con­di­tion­ing sys­tem did not help, unable to decide between spring, win­ter, maybe even autumn.

It was a rather dull office day. And I drag my lit­tle fatigue towards choir rehearsal, heavy eyes, the thought still attached to his anguish or weak­ness. I fell asleep, I still fall asleep, twen­ty-four hours lat­er. The cold has not yet let go, but we are promised one of those fif­teen degrees Cel­sius that will make city dwellers and idle peo­ple smile again. It is a beau­ti­ful sun­ny day. Earth and life are turning.

Anoth­er day at the office, then. Anoth­er accu­mu­la­tion of fatigue. Then, thir­ty min­utes to ana­lyze the increas­ing­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed vocal exer­cis­es of the Con­cone method. Anoth­er thir­ty min­utes to a Tot­si tune, my eyes fixed on this beau­ti­ful song, but my ear that always sings to me just a lit­tle too high. It makes me angry. I do have the impres­sion that I have hit the wall with my abil­i­ties at this lev­el, mechan­i­cal in my singing, deaf to the melody.

Fatigue, there­fore, the rec­og­niz­able feel­ing of main­tain­ing myself in a bal­ance that is afraid of my own ver­ti­go. If I can take deep breaths, if I can calm my heart, there is still at the end of my thoughts, at the tip of my fin­gers, the reflex to grind black pepper.

I seem to be able to write only to com­plain. I’m the first one to feel sad. I can laugh with peo­ple. In fact, I only laugh with peo­ple, I am only lean­ing against souls, sur­round­ed by the intense friend­ship of this man on the ground floor, accom­pa­nied also by the beau­ti­ful cama­raderie of my team­mates at work, nour­ished by the pres­ence of Ganymede’s singers. I am sat­is­fied with this lone­li­ness, which is not lone­li­ness. How­ev­er, I am always on the look­out for a glance, a promise before rea­son­ing with myself and telling myself that if I want to look too hard, I can’t find anything.

I don’t know how to say this, because I know all this.

I have all this and I have noth­ing. To put it blunt­ly, I calm down and calm down. And I con­tin­ue rumi­nat­ing like bad diges­tion that man­ages to mix the acid­i­ty of the stom­ach with the rea­son­ing of the brain.

What is this black fire that warms me and cools my heart ? Is that grow­ing old ?